The golden blight

THE

GOLDEN BLIGHT

BY

GEORGE ALLAN ENGLAND

AUTHOR OF

"THE ALIBI," "DARKNESS AND DAWN." ETC.

FRONTISPIECE BY
C. D. WILLIAMS

Pf

"••Bft

New York
THE H. K. FLY COMPANY

Publishers

Copyright, 1916, by
THE H. K. FLY COMPANY.

PROSPECT PRESS

DEDICATED TO
COMRADE JOSEPH WANHOPE,

"THE GOLDEN BLIGHT" is MEANT TO BE BOTH A NOVEL AND AN

ALLEGORY. SHOULD THE READER FIND ONLY ENTERTAINMENT

THERE, WELL AND GOOD; BUT, LOOKING DEEPER, SHOULD

HE CHANCE TO SEE THE INNER MEANING, THEN I

SHALL KNOW THAT HE, TOO, HAS READ THE

PORTENTS OF THIS TROUBLED TIME.

3N GIVING THIS BOOK TO THE PUBLIC, I WISH TO MAKE ACJCNOWL
ZDGML'NT FOR ASSISTANCE IN FACTS AND PLOT TO

ROBERT H. DAVIS,
GEORGE R. KIRKPATRICK,

JOSEPH WANHOPE.

FOR HELP IN REVISION AND PREPARATION OF THE PROOFS, 19
E. O. HOWARD.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER PAGE

I A QUESTION OF ASHES . . :•: ;•: > 9

II GOLD 15

III THE FIRST TOUCH 21

IV MURCHISON COMES TO HEEL ... 27

V PURSUIT >: >; . 34

VI CONVINCED AT LAST 44

VII JOHN STORM'S DEMAND . . .53

VIII CLASHING WILLS ...... 61

IX WAR js. 'i >. 69

X BELSHAZZAR'S FEAST 80

XI THE HANDWRITING ON THE WALL . 88

XII THE VOICE OF THE BLIGHT . ... . 96

XIII THE SEVEN CONSIDER ..... 104

XIV THE TRIUMVIRATE Ill

XV THE ULTIMATUM 119

XVI THE DEATH PACT .129

XVII PANIC . . 136

XVIII THROUGH THE MAELSTROM . . . 143

XIX A THUG AND A NOBLEMAN . . . 154

XX TRAPPED >: >: . 168

XXI SUICIDE BY PROXY . . . . > . 174

XXII Is THIS DEATH? . . . . . . 183

XXIII To WORK AGAIN ...... 187

XXIV THE DEN ........ 196

XXV THE LAST DEMAND . 208

CONTENTS

CHAPTER

PACE

XXVI

STORM'S RADIOJECTOE ....

. 220

XXVII

THE FINAL DAYS OF RESPITE

. 235

XXVIII

NIGHT IN THE STRICKEN CITY . .

. 245

XXIX

THE COMING OF BRAUNSCHWEIG .

. 255

XXX

THE GREAT JEW'S OFFER .

. 260

XXXI

THE GREAT SPECULATION

. 271

XXXII

THE ATTACK ON WASHINGTON

. 286

XXXIII

THE FLAYING OF THE WOLVES

. 294

XXXIV

BRAUNSCHWEIG'S COUNTERPLAY .

. 307

XXXV

THE GOLD RETURNS ....

, 317

XXXVI

THE MOLTEN FLOOD . . .

. 332

XXXVII

SUNSHINE UPON THE HEIGHTS

. 340

EPILOGUE

. 347

ILLUSTRATIONS

Storm Glanced Behind Him at His Shadow

on the Plain, White-plastered Wall . Frontispiece

At the First Turn, They Passed a Tall,
Ulster Clad Figure. "I Thought as
Much," Said the Man to Himself . . . Page 36

"You Be Quiet!" Commanded Storm . . Page 124

He Held the Paper Out Before Storm's

Eyes Page 179

"Gold ! The Whole World's Gold !" Roared

He, "All Mine! All Mine!" Page 338

THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

CHAPTER I

A QUESTION OF ASHES

UNDER the softly diffused glow of the library lamp,
shaded with priceless glass dug from the ruins of
Heliopolis — glass rendered opalescent by three thou
sand years of burial in the Egyptian sands — the last
sheet of John Storm's weekly report fluttered to rest
upon the table. Storm leaned back and looked old
Murchison full in the face.

"That's all, so far," the scientist concluded, and for
a moment drew with unspeakable satisfaction at the
moist black cigar that Murchison had handed him at
the beginning of the conference.

"Of course at this stage of the game there's no tell
ing what the next reaction may or may not produce.
But for the present, so far as I can report this evening,
that's all."

Murchison sat silent, thinking a bit before comment
ing.

His white, rather blunt fingers, on which he wore only
a single plain ring of massive Roman gold, nervously
tapped the arm of the huge morris chair that held his
small, lean figure.

"H-m!" he grunted.

In the fireplace of Pentelican marble a log snapped

9

10 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

briskly, throwing a brand out on to the tiles. The bil
lionaire kicked it back into the ashes.

"Nothing definite, then?" queried he sharply. "No
tangible specimen of nitrogen to show me, extracted
by your electrical process, from ordinary atmospheric
air?"

Storm shook his head.

"Nothing — yet," he answered.

Murchison took off his gold-rimmed glasses, breathed
on the lenses, and polished them with his handkerchief
before replying.

Storm knew the symptom of annoyance well, and
smiled a trifle to himself. But Murchison's expression,
as he sat there blinking, was far from humorous.

All at once the financier set the glasses back on his
thin-bridged nose and directed a keen blue glance at
the physicist.

"See here, Storm," said he, the natural suavity of
his southern accent now hardened with irritation; "see
here, this won't do. Won't do at all! When I hired
you to carry on this line of research, I expected results.
Results, inside of a month at the outside. Now, you've
been working at the job since October 9, and the total
net product so far is nil. And you've cost me, all told,
more than six thousand dollars. It won't do, I tell
you! Things can't go on this way!"

"That's up to you," Storm retorted, piqued. "I'm
not magic, or anything of that sort. If you think
there's another man in the country any better equipped
than I am, you're at liberty to get him. The con
tract's in my pocket now. Say so, and it goes into the
fire. Lots of other work on hand, you know."

A QUESTION OF ASHES 11

Murchison shifted a bit uneasily in his chair.

"H-m ! I don't know that matters have reached that
point — yet," answered he. "But, now, look at this
thing yourself; more than two months' work and no
concrete results ! I expected you would have enough
nitrogen to fertilize the whole of Texas before now, to
judge from your prospectus!"

"I know. It did look that way. But Science won't
always go where you try to drive her. She insists on
leading. Men can only follow, and take what she
offers."

Murchison snorted.

"Science!" he gibed. "If I were a scientist, instead
of a financier, I warrant you she would go !"

He smote the arm of his chair.

"I'd make her, just as I've made the money world
and everything else I've ever touched. But you — all
theory, all vague speculation. Six thousand dollars
laid out, and the best you can report is that if I keep
you at work another month, maybe three months,
maybe a year, you may possibly get on the track of
a commercially feasible process for extracting mar
ketable nitrogen fertilizer from air! The devil you
say!

"No, experimental science may be all well enough in
its way, but, hang it, give me practical methods every
time. See here, now. If I'd employed Griswold from
the beginning, a natural-phosphate expert, and given
him the same time and money, and turned him loose on
my properties in the South, or sent him out to some of
the guano islands of Chile, or done anything along
those lines, he'd have had results by now — big results !

12 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

While you — all you've got to show is just — those!"

He nodded curtly at the handwritten papers lying
on the antique Chinese table, and for a moment smoked
in agitated silence. The long, white ash of his cigar,
too heavy, dropped on to his waistcoat. Annoyed, he
brushed it off.

Storm masked a smile behind his hand, his clean-
shaved face betraying lines of humor that even his
earnestness and his thirty-six years had not yet dulled.
His eyes brightened with a new light.

"These cigars," said he quite slowly, "are miracles."

He inspected his own.

"I thought," he continued, "I knew about everything
going, in the cigar line, but I confess this brand has got
me guessing. Do you mind my asking where it can be
bought?"

"Bought?" snapped Murchison testily. "Don't talk
rubbish! It can't be bought; it isn't for sale. Why
do you think it can be bought? Can that 'Madonna
of the Book,' over the mantel there, be bought? Is my
Guttman old-German gold dining-service for sale? Do
people inquire in shops for Gragonard panels? Art
such as I specialize in isn't a common, market com
modity !

"Neither are these cigars," he continued, a little
mollified. "On my estate at Patanay, on the southern
Vuelta Abajo of Mindanao, lies a certain field. One
end of it — for what reason, how should I know? — has
a certain soil. The place isn't bigger than the site
of this house. A few dozen plants a year grow there;
no more. Transplanted, they become ordinary manila.
But there — well, you see the result."

A QUESTION OF ASHES 13

"That's right, I do," said Storm, nodding. "It's
art, with a big A."

"Those cigars," continued Murchison, for the mo
ment diverted by his hobby, "are made up for me by
a man named Luis Requin. That's his only job. He
ships me two boxes a year — just two. Each cigar is
wrapped in silver foil and sealed in a glass tube. The
tubes are packed in cotton, and the boxes sent by the
Nippon Yusen Kaisha, kept in the steamers' safes, and
insured at one thousand dollars each. Not that the
thousand is worth considering — it's simply a means of
positively securing delivery.

"Price? There's no possible price assignable to
these weeds. So far as I know only four boxes exist
in the world to-day. Two are en route from Min
danao. One, badly depleted, is in my humidor com
partment in my house-safe. The other — "

"Yes?" interrupted Storm, with more real feeling
than he had so far shown that evening.

"Is in the possession of Andrew Wainwright. You
know him — the Copper Czar they call him? My best
friend, in spite of the fact that we fight like the devil.
He -keeps them in his office, in a special vault built into
the wall. So you see — "

"Yes, I see," answered the physicist, a trifle gloomily.
Then he grew very thoughtful, smoked a moment in
silence, and inspected the cigar ash.

"Art," he said again at length, "with a big A. Not
for ordinary mortals. By the way, Mr. Murchison,
did you ever make a study of ash? Interesting ma
terial, I assure you. Very. Much may be learned
from ash."

14 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

Murchison looked at him a trifle curiously.

"Ash? Hang it, no! What should I want to know
about ash? I'm dealing with the realities of life, the
active principles — with things that are, not things that
have been! Ash? Humph!"

Storm shot a quick glance at the billionaire.

"There may be more in ash," said he, speaking care
fully, "far more than you suspect. Perhaps before
very long, maybe even before you go to bed this night,
you may know more about ash than you do now !"

And with a quick gesture he tossed off the ash of his
own cigar into the fireplace.

CHAPTER II

GOLD

MUECHISON looked puzzled for an instant, but
quickly masked his face with its usual dry and cynical
aplomb.

"That may all very well be," he answered, "but it's
entirely beside the point. Let's keep to facts. Facts !
My time's worth eight thousand dollars an hour, at the
very moderate estimate of six per cent, on my invested
capital. That's something like a hundred and thirty-
five dollars a minute. Every time that Marfel clock
up there ticks off a second, it means over two dollars.
So, you see, we ought to stick to business. What?"

"It certainly looks that way," answered Storm.
"Well, I've reported all I know, so far."

"Which is, summed up, absolutely nothing! Noth
ing at all, from a dollars-and-cents' standpoint."

"You mean that your whole object in this matter
is the accumulation of more wealth?"

"What?" gasped Murchison.

"That all you're having me go into this research for
is the mere piling up of still more dollars? No idea of
benefiting mankind, adding to the world's available
nitrogen and food supply; no — "

"Don't forget yourself, Storm !"

"No humanitarian impulse whatever? Just more

15

16 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

gold, gold, gold — when you're already choked, and
glutted, and swamped in gold?"

The billionaire stared at Storm as though the
younger man had gone quite mad.

"There ! That's quite enough. More than enough !"
snapped he.

"No, I don't think it is," retorted Storm, leaning
forward in his chair. "Not quite. Because, you see,
the whole basis of my work is involved. You're think
ing of one thing, I'm considering another. Science is
my aim — that, and certain ideas I have Jbout a few
matters I won't bother you with just now. Your ob
ject is more gold. Am I right, or am I wrong?"

"Confound your impertinence !" cried Murchison,
half starting up.

"Sit down, please," said the physicist. "What I'm
going to say now will interest you. It really will.
No, no, don't interrupt me — not just yet. You like
my subject — gold. Before I get through to-night I
think you'll have some new ideas about it.

"Now, gold — why do you love it? Why do men toil,
and fight, and even kill for it? That's plain enough;
because it's the universal standard of value, the never-
failing medium of exchange. It means ease, luxury,
power. From world's end to world's end, all things
yield to gold. At its touch every door swings open
wide. The depths, the heights, all yield their tribute
to it. Man's strength and woman's beauty and virtue
come beneath its yoke. 'Saint-seducing gold' indeed!
And so the world adores it.

"It buys everything. Everything! Even Science
herself sometimes plays the jade for gold. Universities

GOLD 17

and pulpits teach only what gold approves; and the
professor or the clergyman who dares stand up and
tell the truth about it, gets the sack — you know that!
The waste places of the earth, the unknown wilds, are
ransacked and made to give up their treasures, all for
gold! If you want a railroad, Murchison, you offer
gold. Bibelots, more gold. An ambassadorship, gov
ernorship, senatorial toga, still more gold !

"Gold writes the laws, and it enforces them. Gold
dictates policies of state and international law, grave
speeches and solemn functions, and the marionette ac
tivities of politicians and diplomats. It makes and un
makes dynasties. It declares peace and war. At last
analysis, gold names the very President of these United
States, and all those in authority, right up to the
Supreme Bench itself. Gold is King!

"The Franz Hals, over there, these Kazak rugs here,
your original Gutenberg Bible, your King Charles
prayer-book, your fifteen Caxtons, your Black Book
of St. John, your Elzevirs you boast of — gold!
That Mazarin tapestry, hanging on the wall, means
gold! That Strozzi bronze, gold!" Storm pointed a
long, big-knuckled finger, as though stabbing at the
vase. "Your — But no matter; why name the treas
ures even here, alone?

"Each is a symbol of gold; of mankind wrung and
tortured with toil, and poverty, and blood, and sweat;
of exploitation, and of war! They all mean your
power over Man, the scourge-marks of your whip upon
the human race. As such, you love them. For this
main reason you love gold !"

Storm paused. Murchison, purple and speechless,

18 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

sat staring at him. The billionaire's glasses had fallen
from his nose and now dangled at the end of their silken
cord. His hands twitched convulsively. His face had
wrinkled into a strange, malicious mask ; under his eyes
the little, fleshy bags that spoke of age became accentu
ated. He tried to speak, but could not.

The physicist regarded him a moment. Through
Storm's mind passed a memory or two regarding this
man's past; his bitter hate of Labor; his brazen sub
sidizing of press, and university and church; the in
dustrial battles he had fought — memories of barricades
and gunmen, of prostituted courts of justice; the
maimed and slaughtered multitudes in his mills and
mines and railways; wars waged, even, at his secret
bidding; always and everywhere a ruthless beating-
down of human life, that he might rise to power. Of
all these things and others Storm thought ; and his face
grew hard as flint.

"Gold!" spat he. "Now, Murchison, I'm going to
show you what it is you have been worshiping all your
life; what you worship now. What you have made
yourself a human harpy for — a vampire, fattening
on the life-blood of the race! You put some gold be
fore me, on that table there, and watch — that's all!"

For a minute the billionaire tried to brave his eyes,
but he could not. He fumbled with his glasses.

"What — what do you mean?" stammered he.

"Mean? I mean just what I say! Your gold's a
rotten sham, Murchison. I'm going to prove it to
you. I, with a little of the Science you despise, am
going to bring you fawning to my feet. Gold? Why,
of all the monstrous jokes, since time began, gold is the

GOLD 19

most monumental! The 16th Century Imperial gold
plate you mean to use at your big banquet, next week,
is all a mockery and a delusion. Your Tyrian jugs,
your ancient Greek gold wine-cups, all your golden
bibelots and coins, your specie hoard itself, haven't
the utility-value of pewter — not in the light of my
knowledge. Come, put some gold here on the table.
Let me prove it !"

"You're insane !"

"Am I? That remains to be seen. Show me some
gold, that's all. Then—"

"But — but gold is the one eternal, indestructible,
basic factor in human life ! Gold, the element — "

"Element? You're joking now. Come, come; set
out some gold, under the light here 1"

He pointed at the table.

"Surely you've got a little gold you're willing to
risk? All for the sake of education?"

Murchison, his face livid with rage and secret appre
hension, reached out and pressed an ivory button set
into the side of the table.

Came a pause. From beyond the stiff, gold-em
broidered portiere sounded a faint and vibrant twang-
ling of harp-strings, playing Handel's "Largo." But
even at sound of his daughter's music the grim old
billionaire's face did not soften. His gold! Menaced?
What? Could it be?

The portiere was drawn to one side. In the door
way stood an elderly Japanese, clad in a long blue
kimono, noiselessly shod in felt tabi. He joined his
palms and bowed, and sibilantly inquired :

"You ring, sar?"

20 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

"Ah, Jinyo!" Murchison exclaimed, starting.
"Come here!"

"Yes, sar."

He approached the table. His slitlike eyes noted
the master's agitation, then for a fraction of an in
stant gleamed as they turned toward Storm. But they
became at once impassive again.

"Up-stairs in my room, in the right-hand corner of
my dressing-table, there's a small steel box. Bring it.
Understand?"

"Yes, sar. Thank you, sar," murmured Jinyo.
Then he was gone.

Three minutes, and the box lay on the mottled green
stone top of the table. Jinyo salaamed again, and
withdrew.

With a key which he took from his pocket Murchison
opened the box. He tipped it over and shook out six
heavy little rolls, neatly wrapped in paper. Each roll
was circled with a band, marked "$500.00."

"Now," said he, in a husky voice, "now, here is gold !
Well?"

CHAPTER III

THE FIRST TOUCH

STORM made no answer, but picked up one of the
rolls, stripped off the band and the paper, and slewed
out the five-and-twenty double-eagles it contained, upon
the stone.

Fresh-minted, bright, beautiful, the coins never yet
had circulated. Storm rang one on the table-top, ex
amined the milling, and weighed the coin in his hand.

"This," said he, smiling, "you admit to be the real
thing, eh?"

"In a small way, yes. Just a few trifles, these coins.
Enough to insure three boxes of those Mindanao Spe
cials, that's all — but still gold. Yes, gold. I had
them sent up from the office this afternoon for little
Christmas gifts to my people here in the house and
elsewhere — butlers, chauffeurs, maids, servants, and all
that."

He spoke more calmly now, realizing perhaps that
self-mastery was essential in face of this unknown peril.
But in his spare-fleshed throat the throbbing of his
pulse was ninety to the minute; and Storm, keen-eyed,
noted it and smiled.

"Gold !" said he. "Here it is, the real metal, the im
mutable element ! Atomic weight, 187 ; specific gravity,

17.16; standard coin gold, 21.6 K fine. Melts only at

21

22 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

1075°, and can be vaporized only by the electric furnace
or the oxyhydrogen blow-pipe. Make sure, now, that
I haven't got either apparatus on my person ; nor any
selenic acid, either — the only acid which dissolves it;
nor any aqua regia to transform it into the soluble
trichlorid form."

Speaking, he manipulated the coin, rubbing it, turn
ing it, stroking it with his strong fingers.

"Gold! Basis of all civilization, trade, life, every
thing, is it not? Gold, the war-maker! The world-
master ! Gold, that turns the wheels of industry, moves
armies, builds cities, dictates to kings and emperors,
creates, rules, annihilates, glorifies! That bends men
and women to its will, whitens the seas with the sails and
blackens them with the smoke of commerce, creates
paradise in the midst of Hell, wrecks millions, crushes
human rights and smears them out in blood, is lusted
for, fought for, lost and won and paid for in man's life
and woman's chastity, in sweat and tears, in ruin, in
damnation ! Gold !"

He ceased, and a little silence fell there in the
library. The clock on the mantel doled out a single
silvery note. Storm glanced up at it.

"Half past nine," said he. "Before ten o'clock, sir,
so far as this gold here is concerned, you'll be three
thousand dollars poorer. I warn you now. This is no
trifling, no empty bombast. I'm going to do just what
I tell you ; I'm going to take this gold away from you.
The lesson will be valuable. Are you satisfied with
the price? It's only a trifle, you know, as you yourself
said five minutes back. I have carte blanche, then?"

"Go ahead— fool!"

,THE FIRST TOUCH 23

Murchison's voice was almost inaudible. In spite
of his grip on the chair-arms, his hands were shaking
with, a nervous chill. His extinct cigar, its priceless-
ness forgotten now, hung loosely from his lips.

Storm stood up. He glanced at Murchison, then
looked down fixedly at the gold coins. One by one he
passed them through his fingers, then dropped them,
clinking, on the table-top beneath the glowing iridescent
light.

Then all at once a strange thing happened.

For now, across the outspread double-eagles, a spat
tering dulness began to appear, leprous and gray as
though drops of mercury had been sprinkled over them.
Every blotch was rounded at one side, pointed at the
other, drawn out into a long tail; and all these tails
pointed the same way — to southeastward, in the direc
tion of New York.

Tiny the blotches were at first. But, even as Mur
chison, with a choking oath, started forward, glaring
at the gold, they grew, enlarged, swiftly became con
fluent as they impinged, even like beads of quicksilver.
Now two of the coins were all gray — now five of them —
now all. Then, under the billionaire's very eyes, they
dulled to a dirty white.

Murchison cried out. Then he clutched forward at
his beloved gold.

"That's right! Touch one!" commanded Storm.
"What's it worth now?"

Smitten to silence, the financier recoiled. "Merciful
Heaven!" stammered he.

Under his scrabbling grasp every coin he had set his
hand to suddenly crumbled into a white, crystalline ash.

24 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

"Look out, there!" ejaculated Storm. "Your ring!
What's the matter with your ring? You're losing it!"

Murchison's hand jerked up as though a viper had
sunk its fangs into the flesh. His ring, already white,
flaked off in whitish powder.

"Your picture-frames need attention, it seems to
me," smiled the physicist, gesturing. "See there — and
there? Poor work! Rotten bad!"

Murchison stared blankly at the frame of the Ma
donna over the mantel. The gold-leaf, swept with this
horrible Blight, even as he looked was growing dull and
gray and cold, losing its beauty, crumbling off. On the
polished slab beneath it a scatter of the crystalline
powder was dropping in little scales and specks.

"Look out for your cravat-pin!" warned Storm.
"You'll lose it if you don't !" Patronizingly he smiled.

The billionaire, dazed, brought his hand falteringly
to his tie. Palsied, his fingers all but refused to obey
his will. But when he touched his tie he started as with
a galvanic shock.

"Where— what?" he stammered. "What— have you
—done?"

His face grew suddenly pale as paper. The pin was
gone!

All that remained was a pinch of whitish powder scat
tered over his cravat and down his clothing.

The big ruby that had been set in the claws of gold
had vanished.

"The stone has probably rolled down inside your vest
somewhere," commented Storm dryly. "You'll find it
all right enough when you go to bed. If you don't,
have Jinyo look for it on the rug."

THE FIRST TOUCH 25

"You devil!" shouted Murchison, lurching forward
at Storm.

But the physicist only stepped back, still smiling.

"I advise you not to talk so loud," suggested he.
"Some of your people here might come in to see what's
the matter. And if any news of this should get out, for
the present, it might prove embarrassing — very. Your
situation, just at present, is one where violence, bluster
and threats won't avail you in the least. You can't
handle me as you've handled thousands of others. For
once, I'm master — as you'll soon see. Now, really, I
must be going."

Never had be spoken more calmly in his life.

"After I'm gone, take a look at the rest of your coins
in the rolls there. They may interest you. Possibly
they may even change your ideas of value a little, who
knows ?

"I'll go on with the research work, of course. One
week from to-night I'll make my usual report, unless
something more important interferes. Meantime, I
shall be busy — extremely busy. Good night."

He gave Murchison one long look, then turned on his
heel and — never even so much as glancing back — strode
out of the room.

The billionaire, absolutely stunned, sat blinking. He
had sunk back into the big chair, and now, chin on
breast, sat gaping stupidly at the strange little piles
of dust on the table.

Then, blinking, gasping, acting on a pure reflex of
habit, he fumbled in his pocket for his gold cigar-case.
He found none. Instead, two of those wondrous cigars
came up loose in his shaking fingers — two cigars pow-

26 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

dered with a fine, metallic ash. Murchison cried out
in sheer fright. He pawed desperately at his pocket.
Out he snatched another cigar, which broke to frag
ments in his clutch.

With an oath, he flung these fragments on to the rug
and ripped his pocket inside out. Of the costly cigar-
case no sign remained save a pinch or two of dust and
some small diamonds which had been set in his engraved
monogram.

"Oh!" wheezed the billionaire. He flung himself
upon one of the untouched coin-rolls and tried to rip
it open. Under the pressure of his fingers it collapsed
to an empty twist of paper circled with the mocking
inscription: "$500.00."

"Merciful God !" he gulped, and tore the paper.

Out sifted a fine stream of that same terrifying ash.

Murchison swept all the empty papers on to the floor,
uttered a strange laugh, and made two wavering steps
toward the door. Then he swayed, flung up his hands,
and — as though struck down by a bullet — plunged full
length to the floor.

CHAPTER IV

MUECHISON COMES TO HEEL

CONFUSION indescribable burst through the house
hold of the billionaire when, running swiftly and noise
lessly in at the sound of the fall, Jinyo found his
master lying senseless on the great Burmah tiger-skin
between the table and the door. Only a moment later
came Mrs. Murchison and Hildegarde from the music-
room, and behind them, scared and silent and fright
ened out of their wits, two or three maids, a butler, and
the Belgian chef.

Hildegarde first recovered common sense.

"Here, Jinyo 1" she commanded, while the mother
knelt hysterically and with futile exhortations tried
to arouse her husband.

"Now, mother, do be quiet!" Hildegarde insisted.
"It's only a fainting-fit. No, no, it's not apoplexy, I
tell you. Pierre, you take his shoulders. Jinyo, you
and Edwards take hold, so — now, then — all right."

Servants and daughter cooperating, they carried him
to the great hall, spacious and wonderfully beautiful,
then past the Parian marble fountain and so to the elec
tric elevator.

Presently Van Home Murchison lay between his
monogrammed sheets in his big, four-posted Louis-
Seize bed, while down-stairs the telephone was kept hot

27

28 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

trying to locate Dr. Harlan Grant in the village.
But Grant was precisely the one man Murchison
positively refused to see. When, after a few minutes,
he came glimmering back to his senses, and his ear
caught the echo of Grant's name, he struggled up in
bed. Gaunt and dishevelled, wild-eyed, vehement in
spite of all his weakness and distress, he cried in an
angry voice:

"Doctor? No, no! No doctor! Won't have him
: — positively won't ! Understand?"
"But, father—"

"No, no, it's nothing — nothing at all, I tell you!
Just clear this infernal pack out of here, won't you?
Mother, you have the windows thrown open. Give me
air ! Air ! I'll be all right—"

"We've sent for Grant already, and — "
"What?" Sudden rage revived the billionaire.
"Sent for him, have you? I won't have him, won't see
him, I tell you! Get that? Hang it, can't a man
smoke too much and get dizzy and drop over without
turning the world upside down? If this gets out, if
the Street gets wind of it — "

"But, listen, father!" And Hildegarde, grasping
old Murchison's hand, tried to calm him.

Mrs. Murchison, distraught, gave contradicting
orders to the frightened serving-folk. Up went the big
windows; the keen December breeze surged in, bellying
the draperies.

Murchison, gasping for air, pushed his daughter
away with imperative decision.

"No, I tell you!" he stormed. "I won't see him.
When he comes send him back P. D. Q. And if he, or

MURCHISON COMES TO HEEL 29

anybody, breathes a word about this, there'll be some
scalping. Do you realize what this would do to the
market if it became known? Now, clear out — all of
you! I reckon I'm boss here! Out, I say! No, no,
mother, you can't stay. No, Hilda — out you go, too !
Nobody but Jinyo — just Jinyo, that's all."

When, still protesting, everybody had departed ex
cept the Japanese, Murchis,on's own private valet, the
financier scrambled out of bed with astonishing agility,
and, though still weak and shaken, got hastily to work.

"Shut those windows, Jinyo!" he commanded.
"Now, come here."

He gripped the wizened little man's arm with a
violence that made the Jap stare.

"Listen!" The billionaire's teeth were chattering
with excitement and cold, as he stood there only half
dressed on the Kirmanshah rug, for the temperature
was well down toward forty.

"Go quickly, quietly down the back way. Go to the
library. Lock all the windows. Lock both doors and
bring me the keys at once. Understand? Nobody
must go into that room, nobooVy at all. If anybody
does, your job's gone. Get that?"

"Yes, sar. I pick up library? Make order?"

"You pick up nothing, touch nothing, see nothing!"
commanded Murchison.

Well he realized that he himself, personally, with his
own soft hands, must clean that room and hide each
speck, each trace of gold-ash.

"Just lock it up and get those keys to me inside of
three minutes, or I'll know why. Hydku yuke!"

Roughly he shoved the valet toward the door.

30 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

"Hurry ! Hurry ! And put all the lights out, there
— and don't say a word to anybody."

Hardly had the door closed behind the Japanese,
when Murchison stumbled across the room toward the
high-backed chair of carved mahogany, on which his
clothes had been flung at random in the excitement.

Shaken and trembling, he began trying to dress him
self, a task he had not done alone for many years.

"Mad? Am I going mad?" he muttered as he
pawed in a dazed manner at his clothing. "This isn't
true! It can't be! Why, the thing's preposterous.
Worse, it's an infernal outrage! Impossible! But
he's smart, Storm is — damned smart, I'll grant that.
A clever devil, eh?"

He tried to laugh, but dismally failed.
"He's huffy because I threatened him with discharge
for not delivering the goods on that nitrate proposition.
Trying to get back at me, what? Well, I'll teach
him!"

He took up his garments and sought to turn them
right-side out, but his hands shook so that they dis
obeyed his will. He cursed, and ripped at them.

"Clever as Hell!" he exclaimed. "But there's some
catch to it, that's certain. Some smart scientific hocus-
pocus — or maybe he had me hypnotized, staring so
steadily at those bright gold pieces. How can / tell?
All I know is that the thing's impossible. It isn't so —
it can't be! But — eh? If it were? Nonsense!
Why—"

Out from his waistcoat-pocket something fell — a
small, hard, black object.

"H-m! My fountain pen," said Murchison, and

MURCHISON COMES TO HEEL 31

picked it up. With hardly a glance at it, he was about
to lay it on the dressing-table close at hand, when a
certain peculiarity in its appearance struck him.

With a strange feeling of impending disaster, he
thrust it under the light burning beside the table.

"What?" stammered he.

Horror leaped into his eyes. All along his spine and
over his scalp a crawling, tightening sensation spread.
Suddenly he began to shiver violently. Long-forgotten
sensations such as he had not felt since, when a boy, he
had once had to pass a country graveyard at night,
thrilled every nerve.

"My God !" he whispered hoarsely.

At the pen he stared, aghast. On the hard-rubber
barrel, where the elaborately carved gold filigree
mountings had been, now there showed only a spraying
intaglio design.

Of the gold no slightest trace or vestige remained.

He snatched off the cap. Terrified, he looked for
the gold pen-point.

But that, too, had disappeared. From the cap a
tiny pinch of white metallic powder filtered out as he
held it in his palsied fingers.

With a curse, Murchison hurled the pen from him.
It cracked against the wall and ricochetted back
across the polished floor, leaving an ugly blotch of ink
where it had struck.

Shaken with fright and cold to the very marrow, the
billionaire staggered back to his bed and collapsed.
Through all the terror and confusion of his mind only
one thought rose dominant:

"This must not be known ! This must be hidden !

32 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

Nobody must get hold of it ! Storm must be seen. He
must be intercepted. If the secret of his power becomes
public — I'm a ruined man!"

He hid his face in both hands, and for a moment sat
quite motionless.

There Jinyo, presently returning with noiseless
tread, found his master. Very pale now, sobered and
humbled was Murchison.

"Jinyo?" said he in an altered voice.

"Yes, sar?"

"The doctor — when he comes — "

"He maybe come now, pretty soon."

"When he does, show him up. I've changed my mind.
And say, pour me a drink there. A stiff one, too."

He nodded weakly toward the little stand in the
corner.

Jinyo deftly manipulated decanter and glass, and
brought Murchison four fingers of Croix d'Hins cog
nac, thirty years old, with a soda chaser. The billion
aire, though ordinarily most moderate, gulped the
brandy neat, without even winking. The chaser he
ignored.

"Library all locked up tight now?"

"Yes, sar. All locked."

"Nobody's been in there? Nobody at all?"

"No, sar. Just I come now from locking it. Keys
here, sar."

Murchison accepted them with a tremulous hand.
He started violently as a knocking sounded on the
door.

"Father! Father?" sounded Hildegarde's voice
through the panels. "We don't understand this at all.

MURCHISON COMES TO HEEL 33

Mother says we ought to be in there with you, and — "

"Will you leave me alone?" roared the billionaire in
a violent gust of passion.

And, already stimulated by the alcohol, he got up
unsteadily from the bed and began pacing the floor.
The Jap, with observant yet non-committal eyes,
watched him from a respectful distance.

"Will you go to bed now, sar?" queried he. "Till
doctor comes?"

"Doctor? What doctor? / don't want any doctor.
I'm as fit as a fiddle — all right every way. See here,
Jinyo!"

Coming over to the valet, Murchison glared down at
him.

"I've got another errand for you. Listen!"

"I hear, sar."

"Good! You go on down to the garage. If you
can get there without being seen, so much the better.
In any case, don't answer any questions. Got that?"

The billionaire's voice was regaining something of its
usual timbre, its pitch of mastery. Jinyo nodded.

"Have Thomas run out my closed car. The closed
car, mind. Out the rear door on to the Sylvan Avenue
driveway. Tell him to get everything ready for a quick
start, but not to light the lamps. He must wait right
there at the wheel for further orders. And you put a
fur coat into the car for me."

"Which coat, sar?"

"The Persian lamb. That's all now. Go !"

CHAPTER V

PURSUIT

FIVE minutes later Murchison had huddled on his
clothes in hit-or-miss fashion, dropped a revolver from
his table-drawer into his coat-pocket, and — sneaking in
his own house like a fear-struck criminal— had made his
way by devious passages and stairs down to the trades
men's entrance at the back of the mansion.

Here he paused a moment to listen. Nothing. No
sound of alarm or of suspicion.

Noiselessly the billionaire opened the door and
slipped out into the night.

A single incandescent was blurring the chill fog under
the archway of the door, casting its light out on to the
thin and glistening snow that had that evening fallen.

Murchison turned a switch in the door-jamb. The
light died. Then quickly, furtively, he hurried in the
thick gloom toward the garage, reached it unnoted,
stole around it, and reached the driveway that com
municated with the avenue at the rear of Edgecliff, Mur-
chison's estate.

Thomas, already holding the car door open, was
waiting for his master with the imperturbable aplomb
that made him invaluable. He touched his cap as Mur
chison climbed into the limousine.

"Railroad station at Englewood, quick !" commanded

34

PURSUIT 35

Murchison. "But run out of the place here as quietly
as you can. Light the lamps outside there on the road.'*

His voice was strained and notably unsteady.

"Yes, sir."

"Go down Englewood Avenue. You know Mr.
Storm, of course — the man you brought up here last
week? All right. Keep close watch of the road for
him. Most of the way down there's sidewalk only on
one side. You can't miss him if he hasn't reached the
village yet. It's highly important that I see him.
Now you understand everything?"

"I understand, sir."

"Very well." And Murchison slipped into the huge
fur coat that Jinyo had already laid on the cushions
for him. "Drive on!"

Thomas closed the door with discreet gentleness,
touched his cap, and climbed onto the driver's seat.
A moment, and with a tiger-purr of gears, the car was
slipping in the dark down the long, winding drive, be
tween the oaks and elms. Even the grit of pebbles
was deadened by the snow.

Almost noiselessly the car swung through the huge
stone gate, nearly half a mile from the house. Here
Thomas switched on the lights, and two dazzling shafts
of electricity painted the Avenue that came racing
toward them like a rushing ribbon of white.

''Let her out now!" commanded Murchison sharply
through the speaking-tube. And, as if in direct obe
dience to his word, the magnificent machine sprang for
ward, spinning into a mad pace along the far-curved
road toward the village.

At the first westward turn down Palisades Avenue

36 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

they passed a tall, ulster-clad figure, sitting at ease on
a stone wall and hidden by the trunk of a huge maple.

"I thought as much," smiled this man to himself as
he watched the fading glare of the red rear light.

"Looks as though Murchison were taking his first les
son in the value of theoretical science. Here's hoping
he'll profit by it. My inoculation seems to have
'taken,' all right. Now for home. But, gad, I wish
I had one of those Mindanaos for the tramp!"

Pondering regretfully on the priceless cigar, whereof
the wondrous bouquet still haunted his memory, Storm
slid off the wall and limbered into his long, loose stride.
As he went he whistled, and with overflowing energy
swung in circles the heavy walking-stick he always
carried.

"In a day or two, three at the outside," reflected he,
"I'll be ready to spring my proposition on him — or
rather he'll probably be in a receptive state of mind
to listen to it. I shouldn't wonder if that big dinner
he's planning might be rather a neat occasion to drive
things home and clinch them, eh?"

Murchison's auto by this time had already roared
down the first of the long hills toward Englewood. An
other car, its lights flinging a momentary blinding
glare, whirred past up the gradient. In spite of his
horrible perturbation, the billionaire smiled grimly.

"Too late, doctor !" growled he. "Your bird's flown
this time, which won't, however, prevent your sending in
a scandalous bill."

Then with a word to Thomas: "Keep a sharp eye
out now," Murchison settled his glasses on his nose and
peered eagerly out at the speeding roadside.

PURSUIT 37

But, though they swept the whole length of the Ave
nue, they found no John Storm. John was already far
on his way down Hudson Terrace toward Coytesville,
where he knew he could catch a car for Fort Lee ferry.

Swinging along through the light snow, now hum
ming a bit of the sextet from "Lucia," now reflecting
on the Mindanao specials, again turning over in his
mind the campaign he had launched against the unques
tioned ruler of the financial world, he made good prog-^
ress. Once he stopped to fill his pipe and light it with
a wisp of paper at a flaring street-lamp, for matches he
found he had none.

As he flung the paper down and set his foot on it he
smiled.

"Ashes !" said he mockingly.

The billionaire had in the meantime reached the
Englewood railroad station. He, the economic over
lord of uncounted millions of men, now was hunting
the scientist as a lost dog hunts its master's spoor.

"Quick, Thomas!" ordered he. "There's a train in
two minutes. You look up and down the platform —
everywhere. I'll take the inside of the station.
Quick!"

"Excuse me, sir ; but Mr. Storm can't have got here
so soon."

"Yes — yes, he can. He may have caught a ride
down on somebody's machine. Go do as I tell you."

And while Thomas, amazed, began to scrutinize all
the waiting passengers by the dim station lights, Mur-
chison hastily disappeared into the building.

The train clanged in, stopped, pulled out again, and
left Murchison alarmed and baffled.

38 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

Back into the car he climbed, shaken with sick appre
hension.

"New York City — and •> the speed-laws !" direct
ed he. Then, as the car wheeled in a quick circle up the
station driveway and surged southbound along Dean
Street, he flung himself back against the cushions and
impotently gnawed at his mustache. His thoughts,
who shall say?

But presently the details of his immediate plan re
curred to his mind. Storm's address, until now a mere
jotting in his memorandum-book, all at once assumed a
tremendous, overshadowing importance.

As the car shot through the night, swerving to dodge
trolleys, ripping over crossings, sounding its harsh
siren-shriek at incautious pedestrians, Murchison
fumbled this book from his inner pocket.

He switched on the little electric light in the roof of
the limousine, then, with an abject eagerness which he
was ashamed to admit even to himself, hastily thumbed
the booklet.

"Ah, here we are — 75A Danton Place!"

And, as though the insensate paper could feel, he
smote in with his clenched fist.

"It's ruin, ruin — if it's true!" thought he. "That
devil's capable of anything. / know the type. What's
his game? A hold-up? Wants a million, does he?
Ten, perhaps? H-m! When I get through with
him—"

With savage bitterness he tried to frame some coun-
termove to checkmate Storm.

"It must be some smart trick, after all," he tried to
comfort himself. "Gold is indestructible; that's the

PURSUIT 39

hard, cold, scientific fact. No getting around that.
Some infernal legerdemain. He won't try it twice,
that's all. Nobody yet has ever stood against me —
no one can."

He leaned toward the speaking-tube.

"Thomas!"

"Yes, sir."

"Getting all you can out of the machine?"

"She's doing fifty now, sir. I don't dare — "

"Make it sixty."

The car swayed as Thomas let her out another notch.
Her exhaust, with the muffler cut out, roared like Nor-
denfeldts. The country road whirled back at a reck
less, dizzy pace, ghostly-white with the thin snow
through which the tires cut their long, straight slashes.
Far ahead, the searchlights leaped and wavered. And
flickering past, the wide-spaced street-lamps flung
momentary gleams on the varnished metal of the
machine.

Bang!

The car lurched, swerved, gritted, stopped.

"What the devil now?" howled the billionaire.

"Blow-out, sir, I think. But—"

"Hang you, what d'you mean by putting on such rot
ten rubber?" To himself he groaned: "If that stu
pendous villain sees anybody or talks with anybody
before I get to him, nothing can undo the possible dam
age." Then aloud: "How long now?"

Already he was out of the limousine, standing there
in the snow with Thomas, his fate and all his millions
now in the skilled hands of this chauffeur, this simple
proletarian. At the limp and flattened tire he glared.

40 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

A great gash had been ripped across it; and from this
a lolling tongue of rubber mocked at him, through the
sardonic grin of the blow-out.

Shaking with cold and fright, he could not restrain
the chattering of his teeth.
"How long, to repair?"

"Five minutes, sir. Maybe ten— not more than ten
at the outside. I've got to jack the axle up, sir, you
see, and bolt on the spare — "

"Go on, get to work then! Don't waste time ex
plaining. Get at it !"
"Yes, sir."

And while Murchison tramped up and down in the
December night, his soul aflame with haste and hate and
fear, the chauffeur got out tools and set to work.
"Thomas !"
"Sir?"

"Can't you run on the tire, as it is?"
"No, sir. I can't make speed, that way. Besides,
sir, the tire would chaw up and maybe wreck us. It'll
be money in your pocket, sir — "

"Go on, then— and be quick, quick ! Your job hangs
on your making good, now !"
"Yes, sir."

Thomas had underestimated the time, for the nuts
and bolts, set by the frost, defied him. One wrench he
broke; he bent another before the spare rim was
clinched home. A full quarter-hour had passed, and
Murchison was holding himself only by a strong exer
cise of will before all was ready once more.
"Right, sir," announced Thomas at length.
Without a word the billionaire jumped into the car.

PURSUIT 41

"Seventy-five A, Danton Place, New York!" cried
he. "And if you want to hold your job, you make it
inside half an hour."

"Yes, sir. But if we don't connect right with the
ferry—"

"Not another word ! Go !"

Luck held bad. They missed a boat fcy one minute
and a half. This cost them a ten-minute wait. And
on Manhattan Street, across the river, they were held
for six minutes by a long freight which, alternately
backing and going ahead, blocked the way. Not all
Murchison's hot haste and bitter rage could clear that
train from the street. Savagely he recalled that he
himself owned sixty-five per cent, of the stock of that
railroad.

"Every man of this particular train-crew gets the
blue envelope to-morrow," thought he. "And these
tracks go underground before this time next year."

The reflection gave him some grains of chilly com
fort. But, none the less, his nerves were worn down
fine long before the auto whirled and skidded around
the corner into Danton Place, and with a sudden cramp
of brakes hauled up in front of 75A.

Before Thomas could get down to open the door for
him, Murchison was on the sidewalk. Up and down the
street he peered. Good fortune, perhaps, might show
him John Storm just getting home.

But no — not a sign of him appeared. Murchison
cast a quick glance at the building. Here a stationery-
store ; next, a pretty little milliner's shop, with a ravish
ing display of feathers, hats, and gowns, at sight of
which Murchison cursed savagely. No sign, however,

42 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

of dwelling-places. Then the billionaire saw a door
way, recessed from the street.

"Ah, here we are !"

Waiting not for Thomas, who stood astonished on
the sidewalk, he pushed open the door and entered.

A row of letter-boxes and electric buttons was dimly
visible at the right. Murchison drew out his cigar-
lighter. By its pale flame he read the tenants' cards.

"Hanson? No. Burbank? Wilson? No. Ah,
John Storm, Consulting Physicist !"

With a sudden thrill of nervousness he rang Storm's
bell. But, though he waited, rang again and waited,
and once more rang, no reply sounded down the tube.
No click of the innerdoor latch bade him come up.

"The devil !" breathed Murchison.

He tried another bell, which was answered. Pant
ing, he climbed three flights of dim-lit stairs. A gela
tinous woman in a wrapper, peering over the banisters,
demanded his errand.

"No, I don't know anything about anybody here.
Sorry, but I can't tell you where he is, or anything,"
said she, when he had stated the object of his search.

Then she vanished and a door closed.

Though Murchison tried every available person in
the house, he got no information. But he had to hear
a number of caustic commentaries anent the rousing-
up of weary folk at that hour of the night. Meekly
enough the financial suzerain of the world endured
these slings and arrows. Storm's door was impreg
nable. Only one thing the billionaire made sure of — -.
the scientist was not at home.

"Where the deuce is he, anyhow? And what next?''

PURSUIT 43

thought the financier, wrought to a bitter pitch of
irritation as he stood before the physicist's unrespond-
ing door.

Then, realizing that undue eagerness might cause
suspicion and subject him to unwelcome observation, he
mastered his consuming impatience.

"See me at once at the Imperial Arms Hotel," he
scribbled in pencil on one of his cards. "Failure to do
so will entail serious results to you"

This card he thrust under Storm's door ; then, morose
and very angry, made his way down to the machine
again.

"Imperial Arms!" he commanded Thomas curtly.
To himself said he: "The devilish fool may have al
ready told somebody how he hoaxed me this evening.
Why, this very moment he may be laughing over it in
some cafe with some of his cronies! All a fine joke,
eh? But if it gets out — if there's any grain of truth
in it — what then?"

He pondered for a moment as the car got under way
once more.

"Truth? Bah!" gibed he. "Truth? It's impos
sible. It can't be so — it is not!"

But his face was grim and very pale as he leaned
back, exhausted, physically and mentally beaten out,
against the deep leather cushions of the limousine.

CHAPTER VI

CONVINCED AT LAST

JOHN STORM, during this time of nerve-rack and dis
tress for Murchison, was thinking of quite other things.

All the way in to town the memory of that precious,
that incomparable Mindanao had haunted him. His
pipe, after that priceless smoke, had utterly failed to
satisfy.

Only in the background of his mind now dwelt the
scene of the gold transmutation, the sense of power, of
success, and strife, and future conflict. The priceless
weed from that far, southern slope — vague as a fable of
the Blessed Western Isles, and seemingly as hopeless of
attainment — obsessed his soul.

"Gad !" mused he. "If I only had the power, now, of
turning Havanas into those!"

Impatiently he walked the deck, unsatisfied. The
one great physical need and craving he had ever known,
ever been dominated by, the fine, discriminating, over
mastering love of good tobacco, was strong at work
upon him.

When he reached Manhattan, instead of going
straight home, as 'a matter of course, Storm turned
into Amsterdam Avenue, and walked south, three blocks,
to One Hundred and Twenty-Third Street. Near the
corner, a curious old Porto Rican, who rejoiced in the

44

CONVINCED AT LAST 45

title of Manuel Rincon y Barra, had long kept a tiny
hole-in-the-wall shop, where he dispensed quaint philoso
phy, and the finest, rarest cigars to be found anywhere
on the Island — odd brands, broken lots, special smokes
with weird names from unknown places.

Storm entertained shrewd suspicions about the legit
imacy of some of this business ; there seemed a scarcity
of United States revenue-stamps in the establishment.
None the less, Barra's wisdom and unparalleled weeds
had long held his interest.

He spent half an hour there, with the brown-faced,
spectacled, smiling patriarch — half an hour of the
same time when Murchison, with febrile anxiety, was
seeking him.

Only when Barra had admitted that neither in his
own shop, nor in any other whatsoever could Vuelta
Aba jo Mindanaos be procured, did Storm, with deep
dejection, take the Subway, homeward bound.

All the way down-town his mind dwelt anxiously on
this problem, and more than once he softly swore
within himself.

But Murchison's card, under the door, diverted him.
Certainly that was a pregnant development.

"H-m-m-1" mused the physicist, as he turned up the
gas and read the penciled message. "I knew I'd hear
from him, sure enough, but I hardly thought he'd follow
me up to-night. He must be in a panic! So soon?
What will he do when I really get down to busi
ness?"

Then, with an odd smile, he tossed the card into the
waste-basket. And, quite ignoring the billionaire's im
perative command of "See me at once!" he calmly un-

46 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

dressed and went to bed in the little room opening off
his study.

"I might as well get a little sleep before he routs me
out," thought he, as he stretched between the sheets.
It's quarter of twelve now. I give him till two A. M. at
latest. Well, we shall see what we shall see."

He turned over and began to think of Mindanaos
again. Five minutes later he was sleeping the sleep of
the absolutely healthy.

Storm's calculations proved correct within a rea
sonably close margin. For hardly had his little alarm-
clock ticked out three hours, when the trilling of his
door-bell, persistent and compelling, aroused him.

"Gad! I've got company at last, I guess," he
yawned, sitting up in bed. "No hurry though. Let
him have time enough to think things over. He won't
go away, never fear!"

With which he very deliberately got out of bed, put
on slippers and bath-robe, and went into his study. He
closed the bed-room door behind him again — for all
the windows in there were open wide — then lighted the
gas, and went to admit his distinguished guest.

"What? You, sir?" he greeted Murchison, with
feigned astonishment. Then he smiled, and offered his
hand, which the billionaire did not accept.

Murchison stood blinking with anger and embarrass
ment, yet through it all Storm could sense the tre
mendous relief of the financier at having found him.
The billionaire's face went a dull red. Then, not even
waiting an invitation, he pushed passed Storm.

"You got my card?" he demanded.

"I did," Storm answered calmly as he closed the

CONVINCED AT LAST 47

door. "Sorry, but I really couldn't keep the appoint
ment. After a hard day's work — "

"The worst day's work you've ever done!" snarled
Murchison. "Now, let me tell you — let me say — "

He stammered, coughed, and struggled in vain for
words.

Storm, a tall, powerful figure in his loose gown, ran
his fingers through his unruly thatch of hair, and smiled
again.

"By the way," remarked he, "if we're really going
to discuss things, do you mind my inquiring whether
you've got a stray Mindinao in your clothes?"

Murchison glared.

"You impudent hound !" he flung at the scientist.

Storm's face hardened.

"Beg pardon?" asked he. "Were you addressing
me, sir?"

"Yes, I was ! And I repeat it ! I add charlatan and
trickster, mountebank and — and — " He choked again.
But his fist, clenched with passion, shook square at the
scientist.

Storm kept a moment's silence. He coughed slightly,
thrust his thumbs through the cord of his bath-robe,
and began to pmce the floor with even strides.

The faint slap, slap, slap of his straw Chinese slip
pers punctuated iJbe tension. Then he stopped, faced
Murchison, and eyed him with a smile of quizzical in
terest.

"What d'you mean," cried he, "by putting up a game
like this on me? Me? By coming out to Edgecliff and
playing your infernal tricks? Think you can put this
over me, and get away with it? If so — well — I reckon

48 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

you've got a thing or two to learn, that's all. And
you'll regret it, too ! Hear me?"

"Yes, I hear you all right enough," answered Storm
quietly. "But what you're driving at, I don't know.
Can it be you're laboring under the delusion that — that
I've been deceiving you, maybe? That what I've shown
you is mere claptrap and deception ? If so, the quicker
you forget it, the better!

"Tricks?" And Storm's long forefinger jabbed vig
orously at Murchison, who stood there shaking with ex
citement, a strange little figure in the bulky greatcoat
of Persian lamb.

"Tricks, eh? See here, now — I've played no tricks
on you! It's all dead earnest, this business. If you
prefer to consider it make-believe, of course that's your
own prerogative. But I warn you now, you're on the
wrong track. Dead wrong! And the sooner you get
off it, in dealing with me, the better ! That's all !"

His jaw snapped shut. His eyes hardened with an
expression Murchison never yet had seen in them.
For a moment the billionaire met his gaze, but only
for a moment. Then the elder man's eyes fell, and
with a dry tongue he tried to moisten his parched lips.

Storm gripped the edge of the table and leaned for
ward.

"See here!" said he. "There's nothing in this mat
ter but just hard, cold, scientific fact. Get that? I've
got a purpose in view. A purpose, you understand?
What's more, I'm going to get what I'm after. Going
—to— get— it! That's flat!"

"Humph !" sneered Murchison. But all at once, with
a cry, he clapped his hand to his face.

CONVINCED AT LAST 49

"Oh!" he ejaculated. "My glasses!"

Storm grinned broadly.

"Yes, I shouldn't wonder if you would need another
pair," said he. "Really, I hate to deprive you of any
more property just yet. But it seems as though you
weren't sufficiently convinced. Look out! Save the
lenses !"

Dazed, Murchison was fumbling at his face. Came
a sharp "clink!" as one of the lenses fell to the floor.
The billionaire's glasses, as such, had ceased to exist.
Down his fur coat clung little dabs of powder; some
had even lodged in his mustache. And the silken cord
which had held the glasses now dangled futilely from
his ear.

"Your watch!" cried Storm.

Almost as he spoke a muffled buzzing became audible
near Murchison's equator. Cursing, the billionaire
ripped open his coat. His fingers sought his watch-
pocket. Then they recoiled as though a viper had been
hidden there.

"Go on, see what's left !" gibed the scientist.

Murchison, deadly pale, tremulously dredged out a
little of the same gray powder, together with an absurd,
incongruous jumble of springs and tiny wheels, and, in
the midst of all, an intact crystal — the utter wreck of
his magnificent gold watch.

Toward the door Murchison retreated, gasping.

"You — you hell-hound !" gulped he.

"Thanks!" answered Storm, bowing. "That's bet
ter. No charlatan, now, eh? No trickster? You
flatter me, sir. I congratulate you, too, on your final
perception of the truth.

50 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

"But, sir, if you'll pardon my saying so, you're in no
fit condition to-night for any rational discussion of the
program I've mapped out. I hardly think you and I
could come to an understanding just yet. To-morrow
morning will be much better, won't it? Shall we make
it eleven o'clock, here in this room? Agreed, then,
since silence gives consent. But be on time, please.
I've got an appointment at eleven-thirty.

"And now," he continued, yawning, "I really must
ask you to let me have a little sleep. To-morrow
there'll be time enough for everything, but we both of
us need a good snooze. And— pardon me mentioning
it — if you'll only be so kind as to bring in a couple of
those cigars the discussion will be much facilitated.
Good night !"

^ But Murchison gave no answer, nor did he make any
sign of withdrawing. He only stood there, dazed, his
pallid face all wrinkled and baggy and odd-looking,
very, very old and drawn, as though the sap and life
had all been drained from his flesh.

Storm shot a glance at him, then turned and slatted
over to the window overlooking Danton Place. This
window he threw up with one vigorous gesture. He
leaned out.

There, at the curb below, Murchison's car was
standing, its engine singing a quiet, contented little
monotone. The figure of Thomas, patiently waiting,
lounged against a mud-guard.

"Oh, there, Thomas ! Thomas !" hailed Storm.
"Yes, sir?" the man called back, starting to attention.
"You're wanted here."
"Yes, sir."

CONVINCED AT LAST 51

"Come right up, please!"

Storm closed the window. He turned,' to find the
billionaire fumbling at some object which he had already
half drawn from the pocket of the great fur coat. A
flick of light showed that this object was metal. In
stinctively Storm realized Murchison had a revolver.

"Put that toy back there !" commanded he, laughing
dryly with caustic scorn. "Your hand's shaking so
you couldn't hit a barn door at ten paces. More likely
than not you'll hurt yourself if you try to shoot.
Come, come, now, Murchison, don't make an ass of
yourself !"

On the stairway sounded a step ; at the door a knock.

"There's Thomas," said Storm. "Quick, get that
gun out o' sight before I let him in!"

With a thin-lipped grimace, the billionaire, over
mastered, slid the revolver back into his pocket.

"Thanks," remarked Storm as he opened the door.
"I'm glad you're going to be sensible, and not force me
to get unpleasant. Now, Thomas," he added to the
chauffeur, "Mr. Murchison isn't feeling well. He
oughtn't to have come at all. If you'll pilot him down
stairs, he'll be greatly obliged.

"He's broken his glasses, you understand, and can't
see plainly. I advise you to get him back home as soon
as possible. Mind the stairs. There's a bad place on
the second landing. All right? Good night!"

In the doorway Murchison paused, turned, and with
a ghastly, masklike face of fear and hate, raised his fist
at the imperturbable Storm. Then he let Thomas,
filled with a vast wonder, lead him away.

After they were gone, Storm sat down in his big,

52 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

shabby, comfortable armchair by the littered table,
carefully filled a pipe and lighted it.

As the first clouds of smoke puffed ceilingward he
heard the faint slam of an automobile door. Then
came a humming, the throw-in of a clutch, the vanishing
cahoot-hoot-hoot of a siren.

"Au revoir" murmured he, leaning back contentedly,
and with thoughtful interest considering the eye-glass
lens that still lay upon the floor. He picked it up and
put it carefully away in his table drawer. "Some
souvenir!" smiled he.

He smoked a while, in thought, then took a note-book
from the table drawer and entered half a page of notes.

This done, he turned out all lights and once more
went to bed.

"I guess you're convinced now, at last," thought he.
"That's the first step. And you'll take the second, too,
my man, or there'll be plenty of trouble, that's all!"

Whereafter, his conscience being good, and all things
working according to schedule, he turned over and fell
fast asleep, to dream of priceless Mindanaos by the
million, which Murchison, who somehow looked like the
Porto Rican tobacconist, kept changing into worthless
golden bars as fast as Storm reached for them.

But all that long night through, after having with
his own hands cleaned up the library, collected the gold-
ash, and hidden it in his safe, the billionaire, in anguish,
hate and futile rage, paced the floor of his magnificent
bedroom at Edgecliff .

And the gray winter morn was not more pale, more
cold and desolate, than he, owner of millions, master of
the world.

CHAPTER VII

JOHN STORM'S DEMAND

"Now, Storm, just what are you driving at? What
is it you want?" demanded Murchison. "We're not
children, you and I. We're men, practical men, men of
sense and judgment. I admit, first off, you've put me
in a tight place. Only a fool tries to bluff a royal flush
with two pair. Show down — let's see what you've got !

"No reason why we should play at cross-purposes.
Let's get together ! And if your demands are anywhere
within reason, why, I reckon maybe I can meet them."

Storm smiled, that enigmatic smile of his, and passed
a hand along his freshly shaven chin. Fit as a fighting-
cock was he, after six hours' sleep and a cold shower.
And the realization that Murchison had obeyed his will,
had come back again at 11 A. M. sharp, was very good.

"Let me take your coat," offered he. "That's right ;
we can talk better if we're both comfortable. Now,
won't you try my big chair? It fits the back better
than any other I've ever known. So. In the third
place, pardon me for asking, but do you happen to have
an extra Vuelta Aba jo you're not going to use? If
so, I know where it will do lots of good."

Murchison sat down, and very grimly pulled out a
leather cigar-case, richly tooled.

"I'm not taking any more chances with gold, you

53

54 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

see," he growled, with just the faintest trace of a sour
smile. "Here, help yourself. I've got four with me,
Take two. That's fair, isn't it?"

"One will do — for now — thank you," answered
Storm.

For a moment he held the long, soft, black weed in
his fingers, with an expression such as perhaps another
man might show on receiving a love-letter from his
adored. His gaze softened as he sniffed the ineffable
aroma of the cigar.

At last he lighted it. For a moment he closed his
eyes, sensing to the full its wondrous bouquet. Then,
with a sigh of contentment, he opened them again.
"Now," said he, "I'm ready to talk business."
"What is it you want?" exclaimed the billionaire, his
thin fingers drumming the chair-arm. "What's the
game all about, anyhow? A hold-up? Money?
Position? What?"
"Power!"
"What?"

"Power, I repeat. And, what's more, I'm going to
get it. This is to be straight talk, Murchison, without
any frills or evasions. Listen. You're used to power.
It's your breath and life and soul. You're used to com
manding, dictating. You say 'Go !' and men go, by the
million. 'Come !' and they come. 'Do so and so !' and
they do it — they have to, or else starve.

"But now, Murchison," and he poised the cigar in
mid air, jabbing with it to emphasize his words, "now
you are in for a new experience. You're face to face
with something you can neither understand nor yet
control. You're up against a fact, now, not a theory.

JOHN STORM'S DEMAND 55

A new kind of fact, altogether, a new force, outside of
and vastly bigger than any you've ever so much as
dreamed of. Understand?"

He paused, as for an answer. Murchison, fidgeting
with his mustache, nodded evasively.

"Well, what are you driving at?" asked he, in a
throaty, thin voice.

"You'll find out soon enough. This new force at my
disposal, can, and will, undermine all the power of you
and of your class. There's no such thing as withstand
ing or combating it, or doing anything at all with it
except just to placate it and surrender as gracefully as
possible. From your hands, power is about to pass
into mine — and when I say 'you,' I mean your class, the
capitalist class as a whole. I represent the other class,
the proletariat. Am I clear, or am I not?"

"Goon!"

Before continuing, Storm smoked a moment in silence.
Then he sat down on the table-top and swung his leg
easily over the edge.

"You're in my grip, Murchison, you and your whole
class, the class of exploiters, parasites and war-makers
— the spoilers of the world.

"I've demonstrated my abilities. If you force me, I
can go farther. In fact, I'll go as far as necessary
to bring you all to your knees. But I advise you, for
your own good, that the sooner you make terms with
me, the better."

"Oh, drop all that!" ejaculated the billionaire.
"Suppose I take you at your own word, what then?
What do you want? Grant you all the power in the
world — what are you aiming to do with it? What?"

56 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

His voice had recovered a little of its usual tone ; and
back into his eyes — now blinking through silver-bowed
glasses — something of their ordinary, keen, shrewd
penetration had returned.

"What are you after, with your power?" repeated
Murchison. "And why do you make your demands on
me? I employ you to carry on certain research work
for me, and all at once you spring this coup. If the
thing's true, and I admit it looks true, you certainly
have got us fellows into a most infernally small corner.
But from what I know of you, I don't believe you're
out merely to destroy. A fanatic you may be, but I
reckon you're decently honest. What's up?"

"I'll tell you, in a minute. But first let me make
my game quite clear. I've been working on radioactivi
ties for eight years now, and, Gad! they've led me a
pretty chase. A few times I've just come off alive,
and no more; and if you cared to see them, I could
show you a dozen scars from the pitiless bombarding
of ions and all that. Yes, I know the game.

"Where other men have courted womankind, I've
courted X-rays, N-rays, cathode-rays, Hertzian waves,
wireless projection, and all that sort of thing. The
Curies, Becquerel, Lodge, Crookes, and the rest, have
nothing to teach me. I've begun where they've left
off. The human race, in regard to radio-activity,
Murchison, stands to-day just about where it stood in
regard to fire, when only a few of our anthropoid
ancestors knew how to make it — when it was all a red,
roaring mystery, heaven-sent, to the hairy hordes that
roamed the jungles.

"But I — well — I understand the matter. Yes, quite

JOHN STORM'S DEMAND 57

fully. I can produce strange forces, and direct them.
This may sound like boasting, Murchison, but it isn't.
It's just plain fact. And now, how am I going to
apply it?"

"Yes, yes! That's the question!" burst out Mur
chison, leaning a little forward. "What next?"

"This: That you and yours hereafter do my bid
ding, or — "

"'You try to wreck us all?"

"Not only try, but really do it! That's putting it
into good, plain English, isn't it? I'm going to use
my power to bring you and your kind to heel. To
make you do my bidding. Not to extort money from
you — never fear. This is no Black Hand affair. I
don't need or want a penny. What I'm after is dom
ination over you mischief-makers that keep the world
perpetually in war and ferment and hot turmoil.

"Wherever you people go, you capitalists, you set
Hell in motion. Like noxious ferments, like malignant
bacilli invading a body, you set up every kind of pestif
erous reaction — and, so that you may have your gold,
the world has strikes, gun-men, murder, starvation,
plague, adulteration, corrupt politics, broken faith,
hate, lies, ugliness and war.

"For you the machine-guns sweep the mining-camps.
For you are women and nursing babes mangled with
explosive bullets, piled into heaps, saturated with kero
sene and burned in hideous pyres by thugs and offscour
ings from the slums ! For you — "

"Stop! Stop, I tell you!"

"For you and your damnecj gold some human fiend
yells 'Fire!' at a miners' celebration, and seventy chil-

58 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

dren are trampled to a bleeding pulp! For you, hid
ing behind your monstrous fraud of 'Follow the Flag,'
the blood of millions of strong men is poured out in
war. For you — but why say more? The list of out
rages and horrors would take all day, in the mere tell
ing. Your hands, there, Murchison — white as they
seem — are dripping red with human blood — the blood
of men, women, children. Look at them, do you?
See it there ? Ugh, you beast !"

Storm slid off the table and strode over to the bil
lionaire, who now had sunk down in his chair and was
staring at this terrible accuser.

"Listen!" cried Storm, shaking a long forefinger in
the billionaire's face. "Listen, now! The world is
tired of you and your class, sick and weary of your
mean and bloody work. It's ready for a change, and
I — I'm on the job to help it.

"I've got the whip-hand, now, and I'm going to lash
you to a fare-ye-well. You and your kind have long
flooded the earth with the workers' blood. Now I'm
going to strike back at you. But don't be alarmed
for your own precious skin, you coward! I won't
touch a hair of your hypocritical, charitable, mission
ary-promoting, pious old head. Not a hair. And
you'll lose no drop of your cold blood. But I'll lay
the lash on where it will hurt you worse and make you
jump higher — on to your pocket-book, damn you!"

"What?"

"That's what I'm going to do — unless you tag my
heel like a whipped cur, you and all the others like you.
No beating round the bush now, Murchison, no mincing
words or diplomatizing. I've got you people in bad,

JOHN STORM'S DEMAND 59

and I'm going to boss you to a finish. You're going
to obey, or — well, your power and magnificence, your
vast properties, your trade and commerce, your every
thing won't be worth ihatl"

He snapped the ash from his cigar and ground it
beneath his foot.

"You — you'll pay for this, you — you — " stammered
the billionaire; but Storm laughed in his writhen face.

"Pay, eh? Yes, I'm likely to — I don't think. Just
try to start something, and see. Gold is God, for your
class and for you. Well, you're worshiping dust and
ashes.

"Whatever contains gold, lies in my power. No
matter in what part of the world it is, whether in your
pocket, in Wall Street, in London, Berlin or Bombay or
Hong-Kong, I can reach it!

"Your cigar-case last night was no harder and no
easier to disintegrate than would be the British crown-
jewel gold in the Tower. And just as easily could I
crumble the Dragon Throne in Pekin, the Czar's dia
dem, or the Sublime Porte's insignia on the banks of
the Bosporus. Which you will admit," he added, blow
ing a fog of smoke, "is going — some!19

"Bah !" jibed Murchison. "Don't try to make a fool
of me, young man ! Some. little local influence you may
perhaps possess, but — "

"I'm giving you this straight," interrupted Storm.
"There's no particular advantage in a man's bluffing
when he holds a royal flush, as you yourself have al
ready remarked. Whatever contains gold is 'meat'
to me.

"The higher the quality, the more complete is my

60 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

control. From 24K down to about 18K, I can trans
mute it into a powder of more or less fineness, as you
know. Below that, while I can entirely eliminate the
gold, the remaining part of the alloy may retain some
cohesion, so that the form of the object may remain,
though the value sharply diminishes or becomes zero.
The thing works out mathematically. And in every
phase and aspect it spells power — over you, Murchi-
son ; you as an individual, you as a class."

"You mean to sandbag me into enriching you?"
And the billionaire, flushing slightly, clenched his bony
fist.

"Not at all ; not the least in the world ! I'm simply
giving you the chance to avert ruin for yourself and
yours by granting one demand. I might make a dozen,
looking toward social justice, but that would possibly
complicate matters. So I'll be reasonable and go at
the worst deviltry right off — at the thing I hate more
bitterly than you hate poverty itself. Just one de
mand, get me?"

"What— what is it, d: J a - .''

"This !" And Storm stood up. He crossed his
arms, gazed down at Murchison, and paused to weigh
his words.

"Just this: International Disarmament, the Aboli
tion of War, World-Peace. One demand, in three
aspects. One !

"War must cease. You understand me? War must
cease!99

CHAPTER VIII

CLASHING WILLS

FOE a minute the billionaire sat staring at the
scientist with uncomprehending astonishment.

He had expected, perhaps, some crushingly heavy de
mand for money, property, position; and he had been
more than half prepared to grant it, if at all in reason.
But this turn of affairs utterly disconcerted him. It
lay as far outside his concepts and his understanding
as a request for the moon would have lain.

So, for the space of a dozen breaths, he merely sat
blinking at Storm, unable to formulate even a ragged
scrap of answer.

"Well, how about it?" demanded the scientist,
thoughtfully studying the long, white ash which had
formed on the end of his Mindanao. "It is yes, or no ?"

"Wha — what d'you mean?" stammered Murchison.

"To put an end to organized murder, yes, just that,"
answered Storm quietly. "I intend to apply a styptic
to society, to stop the flow of human blood. The
world, through you and yours, is all one reek of rotten
ness, graft, cruelty and barbarism. And, out from
among them all stands preeminent the supreme sav
agery of War!

"War is Hell. That's a bromide, but it's true.
Satan himself, the real old fire-and-brimstone Satan

ei

62 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

of past generations, never invented anything more
stupidly savage than this idea of killing human beings
for the enrichment of the few. War, private or public,
is all murder — and it's got to stop!"

Murchison gasped, inarticulately; and now, fully
convinced of Storm's insanity, cast a measuring glance
at the door. The scientist understood.

"Don't be alarmed," said he. "I haven't the slightest
disposition to harm you, personally. You already have
my promise. And beside, what good would it do?
You're far too useful, Murchison, to be molested by
any direct reprisals. I need you in my campaign of
War against War. *My campaign to stop this inter
national game of 'Beggar My Neighbor,' otherwise
known as increasing armaments. To limit, then dimin
ish, and finally entirely do away with armies, navies,
and all that sort of thing. And, in a word, to intro
duce an era of peace, in place of the present era of
growling, fang-showing brutality. Does my idea con
vey any meaning to your gold-sodden intellect?"

"War?" gulped the billionaire. "What— what do
you mean? Stop war? You want me — me — to — ?"

"To get together with the other vultures that fatten
on the world's battle-fields, and end the whole infernal
saturnalia of carnage. In a word, stop murdering!"

Murchison gasped.

"Are — you sane? And in earnest?" he managed to
articulate.

"Never more so! Absolutely!"

"Had — had you asked for — "

"I know — money! Arrrh! Money, j- \.imoney!
Is that all you can think of, money, you gold-grubber?

CLASHING WILLS 63

I fancy you'll have something else to occupy your
attention, before very long! Now then, what's your
answer? Are you going to do my bidding, or not?
Come ! Speak up !"

"This man's a plain lunatic ! He's mad, insane, clear
through, irresponsible and highly dangerous !" was IVIur-
chison's secret thought ; but he made shift to parry for
time.

"Why," exclaimed he, blinking nervously, as was his
habit, "why, what in the world can / do about all these
things? War, I admit, is a regrettable affair; and
armaments are tremendous drains on national re

sources — "

"And tremendous revenue-producers for the manu
facturers of armor-plate, guns, ammunition, clothing,
canned carrion and cheap coffins !" interjected Storm.
"Just what part of your fortune had its origin in any
of these industries, eh? How much influence have you
ever exerted on the press, to stimulate militarism, so
you could sell your rotten — ?"

"But, for the present, they're necessary evils," the
billionaire interrupted, raising his voice. "War begets
patriotism, too, and brings out all that's best in the
nation — "

"Kills the flower of our youth, you mean; wakes the
ape and tiger, in man, and sets the cup of blood to
our lips! No, no, Murchison, your specious patriotic
bunk won't go, any more. It may fool the Henry
Dubbs, and all that; but you're talking to a man who
knows, now — one who understands the game, flag-wav
ing, brass bands and all — one who is wise to the way
our bovs are tricked to the trenches and death, while

64 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

you fellows sit secure in Wall Street, cutting cou
pons!

"You can't put any of your mouldy old platitudes
over on me. I know the whole matter from A to Z,
and I demand the cessation of murder — murder of the
working class for the benefit of the shirking class.
Understand?"

Murchison pondered a moment, or seemed to. Then
said he :

"Even admitting you're quite right, what can I do?
War? How can / abolish it? Why do you come to
me with your — your Utopian demand?"

"Why? Simply because you're the richest man in
the world, a man of incalculable influence, whose every
word — mostly buncombe — is snatched by the press and
hurled to the ends of the earth before it has time even
to get cold. Because you're the representative head
and spokesman of the whole Capitalist System, its
focus and personification in millions of minds. Be
cause — "

"You misunderstand!" interjected Murchison, his
face livid. He started forward in his chair. "7 have
no part in — "

"Silence! I know all about it, and the people are
beginning to know, as well. With the radical press
spreading the facts before them, day in and day out,
do you imagine you and yours are going to be im
mune, forever? It is flinging the truth broadcast to
millions, every week — and you, cowering on your estate,
believe you can still hide behind the mask? Only a
madman, drunk with power and gold, could entertain
such nonsense ! I tell you, Murchison, you're the chief

CLASHING WILLS 65

sinner of the whole unspeakable lot; and you're the
man I've picked to help me right the wrong!

"I may involve others, later. Probably shall. But
you're the one I've chosen to begin with. You have
vast power, and that power I'm going to use, both
economic and political. And — "

"My dear sir! I never held an office in my life! I
take no part in politics — beyond voting, like any good
citizen. I'm a business man, pure and simple — "

"Impure and complex, you mean," interrupted
Storm, throwing away the butt of the smoked-out Min
danao. "It's quite true you never have held office,
but you pull the strings and make the marionettes
dance your tune. I know all about what you think
you are; and I know what you are! Your word
is the most important word to-day in the affairs of
this country ; not as a political idol, or a holder of high
office, or openly as an executive head, but in a more vital
sense altogether, behind the scenes.

"All thinking men realize, to-day, that gold really
rules. That gold, not the public, makes and administers
the laws. And that in every other civilized country the
same condition exists.

"You and your class, Murchison, whether in the
United States or in Europe, constitute the real govern
ment. This so-called 'People's Rule' bunk is all rub
bish, and you know it ! Of course, there are elected offi
cials and all that ; but with the exception of certain ones
whom I won't name, but whom you know right well, be
cause they carry red cards in their pockets, they're all
so many puppets !

"They move and make noises and wave their little

66 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

arms and go through the motions of governing, but you
know infernally well who pulls the strings. You know,
and so do I, and there's no use trying to hand out any
hot air about it. If you and your gang say: 'No
war!' why, war ceases. That's all. Now you under
stand !

"Are you going to say it, and climb down, like Davy
Crockett's coon? Or are you going to make me fight
—and win from you, by means you already know some
thing of? How about it, Murchison? What's doing?"
^ The billionaire got up stiffly from the huge chair.
For a moment he faced Storm; then, with a poisonous
grimace, began to pace the floor. Storm watched him
with amused interest.

"How about it?" he repeated. "Is it yes, or no?"

Murchison whirled on him, livid with sudden passion.

"So it's a Frankenstein game, eh? See what I get

now for having taken you up and patronized you and

made much of you— given you money for research

and—"

"There, there, cut that right out, Murchison !" com
manded Storm. "We're past exchanging personalities.
Bo you, or don't you, understand me? Do you
give in?"

Beside himself with rage, the billionaire raised his
cane, which he still held gripped, and shook it violently
at Storm.

"You'll be in jail, sir, in the penitentiary, first thing
you know, sir ! With twenty years to serve ! Twenty?
Ha ! A life sentence !"

"On what charge, please? Disturbing the graft?"

"Never you mind the charge; we'll- land your

CLASHING WILLS 67

"True enough, gold certainly can tip the scales of
justice, I admit," answered Storm thoughtfully.
"Only, this time, it won't work. Things aren't going
to happen according to schedule. Up to now, you've
been able — you and your bunch of silk-stocking bur
glars — to 'plant' any kind of evidence you've needed,
against anybody you've wanted to get. You and your
private detective agencies and all the rest of the outfit,
with their dictagraphs and perjury and strong-arm
work and gun-men have been able to get away with
anything and everything. Your 'frame-ups' and
'jobs' have usually worked to a T, but they won't
touch me. You won't start anything on me, Mur-
chison, in the good, old, capitalist way. Why not?
Because you won't dare, that's all.

"I'm not an ordinary agitator who can be suppressed
and hustled off behind the bars on the first charge that
comes convenient. I'm a scientist, aching for a fight;
and in the hollow of my hand I hold you and yours,
absolutely. Even though I know you'd like to, you
can't send me to the Pen, nor to the electric chair. At
every turn I can and will checkmate you, Murchison —
so be warned in time. Be good !"

"I'll see you in Hell first!"

"Doubtless you'll be there, but I decline to make
any appointment. All I want to impress on you is
the fact that you'd better crawl down while the crawl
ing is good. The first hand that's laid on me, the first
charge that's brought, will be the signal for a slashing,
smashing center-drive right through the house of cards
that you call your wealth, your property, your system.
You and your whole class will be involved. It won't

68 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

touch the workers, for they've got no gold; they've got
nothing to lose. But you — what it will do to you will
be a plenty !

"I tell you, Murchison, your money and your power
will run through your fingers like water. I'll drain
you people so dry, Murchison, and play such tricks
with credit and finance, and banking and government,
and the whole business, that you won't ever know what
struck you.

"So, look out!"

And Storm held up an admonishing finger, as though
talking to an erring son.

"Your only chance of safety is to give in to me and
leave me unmolested. Processes are at work this very
minute, which I am controlling. If I'm taken away
from them — God help you !

"In the smash that would follow, Black Friday by
comparison would be a picnic. Your whole hellish
system will cave in! Lucky for you and your kind,
Murchison, if Red Revolution doesn't raise its head,
the barricades go up on Broadway, and the guillotine
arise in Wall Street to do its bloody work with you and
yours !"

CHAPTER IX

WAR

SILENCE followed, a silence so thick that the breath
ing of the two men grew audible — that of Storm, even
and regular; Murchison's, hurried and feverish.

Outside, the dull and vibrant hum of the city's life
droned on and on incessantly. A hawker's cry rose
from the street ; half -heard, the Sixth Avenue L clanked
dully.

Then Murchison, with a face such as you would
hardly want to look at twice, spoke huskily and with
a tone commingled of craft, hate, and consuming fear.

"See here, Storm," said he. "Why not come right
put in this matter, and really tell me what you want?
You aren't planning to smash things right and left,
and bring Hell on earth, just for the sake of a Utopian
attempt to stop warfare. Your campaign itself would
bring anarchy and bloodshed far worse than the evils
you complain of. Why, you'd have absolute chaos, if
you made good your threats! You'd have panic, un
employment, mob-rule, rapine, arson and red murder!
No, no, I can't believe you mean what you say. You've
got some other game up your sleeve. What do you
really want, now ? In plain English, let's have it !"

Gone now all Murchison's veneer of culture. Gone
the language of diplomacy. Reduced to its lowest

70 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

terms, his bartering. All his life accustomed to buying
what he wanted, now he still tried the same tactics of
raw purchase.

"What's your price, Storm? Name it, and let's
dicker. How much? A million? Two, three, five? Or
is it political power you want — or reputation? How
about a governorship, or a seat in Congress? Any
thing doing on those terms? If not, there's the Sen
ate, you know ; surely, you can't be aiming higher than
that!"

The old man's tongue, well-loosened now, clattered
freely.

"I might even manage a seat on the Supreme Court
bench, if you're insistent," continued he. "But I don't
believe you care for politics, after all. Something
good in the way of a traveling scholarship, unlimited
time and stipend very generous, would be nice, now,
wouldn't it? Or a big professorship — or even the pres
idency of a university built especially for you — or — "
"Stop there!" cried Storm. "You're on the wrong
track altogether. There's positively no use in your
offering anything but just the one thing I want and
mean to have. As I've already told you, I'm working
for the abolition of the system and of war. War, or
ganized murder, mass butchery. I don't believe in it;
I hate it; and I'm going to put an end to it."

"But, you unpatriotic hound!" croaked the billion
aire, "war is sometimes right, often necessary. The
god of battles is a just god! Have you no patriotic
pride? No sense of national honor? No thrill of
reverence for the flag, the army, the navy, the defend
ers of our liberty and — "

WAR 71

"Sh-h-h! There, there, that's enough! That's all
very well for schoolboys ; but you know as well as I do,
Murchison, that war is a big killing game for profits —
the wholesale murder of the working-class in defense
of the interests of the ruling class.

"The exploiting elements of mankind have for ages
profited from man's inherent instinct to fight. D'you
know what George Bernard Shaw says about that in
fernal tendency? No? I'll tell you."

He stepped to his book-case, jerked "Man and Super
man" off the top shelf, thumbed it over and, turning to
Murchison, read the Devil's speech to Don Juan and
Ana:

And is man any the less destroying himself for all this boasted
brain of his? Have you walked up and down upon the earth
lately? I have; and I tell you that in the arts of life, man invents
nothing; but in the arts of death he outdoes nature herself, and
produces by chemistry and machinery all the slaughter of plague,
pestilence, and famine. The peasant I tempt to-day eats and
drinks what was eaten and drunk by the peasants of ten thousand
years ago; and the house he lives hi has not altered as much in a
thousand centuries as the fashion of a lady's bonnet in a score
of weeks. But when he goes out to slay, he carries a marvel of
mechanism that lets loose at the touch of his finger all the hidden
molecular energies, and leaves the javelin, the arrow, the blow
pipe of his fathers far behind. In the arts of peace man is a
bungler. I have seen his cotton factories and the like, with
machinery that a greedy dog could have invented if it had wanted
money instead of food. I know his clumsy typewriters and
bungling locomotives and tedious bicycles; they are toys com
pared to the Maxim gun, the submarine torpedo-boat. There is
nothing in man's industrial machinery but his greed and sloth;
his heart is in his weapons!

He paused, slapped the book down on the table and
looked at Murchison.

72 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

"Precisely!" jubilated Murchison. "There you have
it ! It's not our fault ! Men love to fight — they want
to, for the sake — "

"You dry up, will you, till I'm through? It is your
fault; your rotten, damnable fault, you men of 'light'
and 'leading,' and all that kind of bunk! What have
you done to stop the slaughter? Anything? Have
you or your banqueting peace-societies, or your Hague
Conferences or your canting clergymen and bishops,
ever really waded in and stopped a war ?

"I guess not ! You've seen in that instinct a chance
to make money. You've aided and abetted it, per
fected the tools of murder, bidden your fat bishops
pray for victory, and created the warlike integument
of capitalist society, glorified militarism, and beaten
the tom-tom, you and yours have ! What for ? For
profits, infernal hypocrites and scoundrels that you are !

"You know as well as I do that nine-tenths of all wars
are merely disguised pirate expeditions for land, or
trade, or some other form of loot.

"But the odd part of it is, Murchison, that the peo
ple who get the loot never do the fighting! They stay
at home and cut coupons, while the fellows without a
share of stock or a bond to their name, they stop all
the bullets. And the newspapers play up the flag!
And the chaps like you rake in another wad. And the
burial-squads work overtime, while Uncle Sam pays
the bills — which he later hands along to Mr. Ordinary
Citizen. Great game, what? Oh, a beaut! But it's
going to stop before long, and — "

"What rot !" snapped the billionaire. "If you knew
the first principles of national expansion — "

WAR 73

"S-h-h-h!" And Storm, picking up a scrap-book
from the table, opened it where a slip of paper marked
a paragraph.

"Listen to how Dr. William J. Robinson describes
one little incident of the Pan-European war:

Whoever has seen the Belgian refugees run for their lives
from their invaded and burning towns and villages will never
forget the spectacle. Old and young, men, women and children,
all were running. Terror was depicted on the faces of all. After
the flight from Antwerp the physicians at Maastricht had in one
day to treat over 300 women who during that flight had had
miscarriages. The women belonged to all classes of society —
rich, middle class and poor. Just imagine, if you can, the horror
of the situation — what the exhaustion, what the physical suffering,
must have been to bring on an abortion, and what terror, what
horrible sufferings, these women must have experienced if, in
spite of the hemorrhage, and the pain induced by the abortion,
they had to run and run without stopping!

"Fine business, eh?" gibed Storm, turning a few
pages. "Here's what Zola says about it. You know
his 'Debacle,' surely? Listen!

At Sedan, some lay face downward with their mouths in a pool
of blood; others had bitten the ground till their mouths were full
of dry earth; others formed a confused, intertwined heap of
mangled limbs and crushed trunks. . . . Great livid clouds
drifted athwart the sun and obscured his light, bearing with
them an intolerable stench of soot and blood. . . . Men were
dismounted as if torn from the saddle by the blast of a tornado,
while others, shot through some vital part, retained their seats
and rode onward in the ranks with vacant, sightless eyes. . . .
After that the road led along the brink of a little ravine . . .
into which an entire company seemed to have been blown by the
fiery blast. The ravine was choked with corpses, a landslide, an
avalanche of maimed and mutilated men, bent and twisted in
an inextricable tangle, who with convulsed fingers had caught at
the yellow clay of the bank. A dusky flock of ravens flew away,
croaking noisily; and swarms of flies, attracted by the odor of
fresh blood, were buzzing over the bodies and returning incessantly

74 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

Storm paused, and eyed the billionaire.

"Nice, eh?" said he witheringly. "But it brought
Prussia several train-loads of French gold at last, you
remember. Train-loads, mind you! Which gold was
hoarded away in the Kaiserhof Schloss, I understand,
and was used in the Big War. Oh, grand !"

Murchison winced, and thrust out a hand in protest.

"That's past history !" exclaimed he. "Modern war
fare is humane and scientific. We have asepsis, now,
and the Red Cross, and all that. It's all bad enough, I
admit; but not as bad as you try to make out. The
world's outgrowing — "

"Oh, it is, is it? Really, Murchison, you amuse me!
Perhaps you stopped reading the papers, during the
Big War? Perhaps you never heard of men burned
to a crisp by German liquid fire or gasping out their
lives, with gangrened lungs, after having been 'gassed' !
Perhaps you never knew about whole companies being
shattered to bleeding fragments by a single 42-centi
meter shell, or about soldiers of the Allies going mad
after weeks in trenches half-full of stinking water,
where they had to stay with rats and vermin and rot
ting fragments of human flesh? Go a little farther
back and recall the Japan-Russian war.

"Know anything about that — you, who hold $4,-
000,000 worth of Trans-Siberian Railway bonds?
You, who financed that last $200,000,000 loan to Rus
sia, to keep things going? You, who to-day draw in
terest by the barrel on that war? Humane, eh? See
here !"

He tossed down the book and took up Kirkpatrick's
"War, What For?" from the table.

WAR 75

"Here, on page 83," said he, "you'll note the hu
manity of that strictly modern affair:

Countless corpses, covered with blood lay flat in the grass and
between the stones. . . . Some were crushed in head and face,
their brains mixed with dust and earth. The intestines were
torn out, and blood was trickling from them. . . . The bodies
of the dead built hill upon hill; their blood made streams in the
valley. Shattered bones, torn flesh, flowing blood, were mingled
with shattered swords and split rifles. . . .

"Enough!" cried Murchison, paling still more.

"Just hear what Andreief, in 'The Red Laugh,' has
to say about another of those profitable Manchurian
battles."

"No! No! Enough!" protested the billionaire,
making as though to rise.

"Sit down there and listen!" dictated Storm.
"What? You run a slaughter-house and refuse to
learn about its operation? Keep still, now, and pay
attention! It will do you good to know a little — just
a very little — one per cent., maybe — of the truth!
Some of your jeweled miniatures, your Byzantine gold
placques, your reliquaries and Gobelin tapestries, and
so on, certainly were bought with interest-money drawn
from just such sources as these!

"Here's a nice bit, now — the storming of a barb-wire
entanglement. Humane? Very! Good business. Fine!

The live-wire, chopped through at one end, cut the air and
coiled itself around three soldiers. The barbs stuck into their
bodies; and, shrieking, the soldiers spun round in frenzy. No
less than 2,000 men were lost in that one entanglement. Ten or
twelve lines of wire and a whole labyrinth of pitfalls with stakes
driven at the bottom, had muddled them so that they were quite
incapable of escape.

76 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

Some, like blind men, fell into funnel-shaped pits and hung
upon these sharp stakes. . . . They were crushed down by
fresh bodies, and soon the whole pit, filled to the edges, presented
a writhing mass of bleeding bodies, dead and living. Hundreds
of fingers, like the claws of a lobster, gripped them firmly by the
legs, gouged out their eyes, and throttled them. . . .

A loud calling, crying groan issued from the distorted mouths.
. . . All those dark mounds stirred and crawled about with
outspread legs, like half-dead lobsters let out of a basket.

"Don't! Don't!" gasped Murchison faintly.

"Sit down ! I'm only giving you the merest tag-end
and trifle of the whole, I tell you. Don't you want to
know what kind of wine-press it is that squeezes out
the juicy dividends and interest, the palaces and ban
quets and extra dry for you? Hark, now!

The train was full, and our clothes were saturated with blood.
. . . Some of the wounded crawled up, themselves; some walked
up, tottering and falling. One soldier almost ran up to us. His
face was smashed and only one eye remained, burning wildly and
terribly. He was almost naked. . . .

The ward was filled with a broad, rasping, crying groan; and
from all sides pale, yellow, exhausted faces, some eyeless, some so
monstrously mutilated that it seemed as if they had returned from
Hell, turned toward us.

I was beginning to get exhausted, and went a little way off to
rest a bit. The blood, dried to my hands, covered them like a
pair of black gloves, making it difficult for me to bend my
fingers —

"Stop ! For God's sake, stop !" croaked the billion-
aire. "Give me a drink — anything — brandy, if you
have it !"

He hid his face in his hands and, for a moment, sat
there sick and shaken.

Storm smiled bitterly at him, then flung down the
book with a bang on the table and went to pour him a
good-sized nip.

WAR 77

"Here," said he curtly.

"Thanks— there, that's better ! Please— call Thom
as. I — must be going now."

"All right. But just one thing more. And I want
you to remember it, Murchison, and think about it hard.
As Kirkpatrick says, nowhere on all that battle-field,
among the shattered rifles and wrecked cannon, among
all the broken ambulances and splintered ammunition-
wagons; nowhere in the mire and mush of blood and
sand; nowhere among the carcasses of horses and men
— nowhere could be found the torn, bloated, fly-blown
corpses of bankers, bishops, politicians, capitalists, and
other elegant and eminent 'very best people' ! You
wouldn't care to be there yourself — now, would you,
Murchison? Not nearly so much as letting the other
fellow go, the thirteen-dollar-a-month Johnny, while
you wave a flag and cheer and — clip coupons! Eh?
How about it?"

Murchison, making no answer, got unsteadily to his
feet and started toward the door. Not defiant, this
time, was he. Neither did he threaten or bluster. All
the come-back had gone clean out of the man.

Storm, his long arms folded, watched him with most
mordant scorn.

"To-morrow night, Murchison," said he, by way of
ultimatum, "your tremendously swell banquet takes
place at Edgecliff, does it not? Beauty and brains,
high finance, and literature, and art will all be repre
sented — yes, and military power, too. It will be a
representative gathering of the elect — the 'sons of
Mary,' and all that sort of thing. And there will be
gold and jewels, champagne and flowers, music and the

78 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

light of women's eyes, and various other pleasant and
expensive things.

"I hardly expect to be invited, Murchison ; but I shall
be there, just the same. If not in the body, then invis
ibly, with powers you can neither understand nor meas
ure — yet. If you don't come to my terms by 6 P. M.
to-morrow, I shall consider that you don't care to co
operate with me in ending human warfare. Is that
understood?

"Very well. Watch your table, then, at 10.30 sharp.
That, I think, will be a proper hour, an appropriate
moment of conviviality, for the 'Mene, Mene, Tekel,' to
get its work in. Well?"

Murchison's lips moved, but he could speak no word.

Storm smiled again, dryly.

"After that, the deluge," said he quite calmly. "I
warn you!

"In the meantime, as you're planning out the ban
quet, which will cost a vast fortune, try to keep in mind
a picture of those Manchurian wire-tangles and those
corpse-filled pits, with the rattling hail of rifle-bullets
sweeping everything. And recall Kirkpatrick's ques
tions :

" 'Wouldn't it be a strange thing to see a banker, a
bishop, a railway president, a coal baron, a judge, a
senator, all hanging on stakes in a pit, with scores of
other men piled in on top of them — all clawing, kicking,
cursing, screaming, bleeding, dying — following the flag?
Such would indeed be a strange and interesting sight,
but absolutely impossible.

" 'Naturally, such people are not there on the firing-
line — up where bayonets gleam, sabers flash, flesh is

WAR 79

ripped, bones cracked, brains dashed out, and blood
spattered.' Never in this world !

"Think it all over, Murchison. There's a reason, if
you can find it. If not, I'll help you. Good-by!"

The billionaire was gone. As the door closed after
him, Storm thrust both hands deep into his trousers-
pockets, let his head sink, and for a moment stood there
in thought.

Then he looked up.

"Come, come!" said he sharply. "This won't do.
The big banquet's less than thirty-six hours off, now.
In case Murchison doesn't crawl down, my work's cut
out for me, good and plenty. I've got to get busy tun
ing up my radio jector for a big job. The den for
mine !"

Five minutes later he was striding rapidly toward a
little sky-lighted room on East Twenty-sixth Street,
where wonders were preparing which soon were destined
to startle the whole world, to shake it to its deepest core.

CHAPTER X

BELSHAZZAR S FEAST

IT was twenty minutes past ten, next night, when —
the sherbets, the ices and the rare imported fruits dis
posed of — Murchison's guests scented with satisfaction
the thick, black Arabian coffee which the butlers, im
personal as so many well-oiled mechanisms, served in
Imperial Satsuma cups of eggshell thinness.

Gold dominant, gold triumphant, gave the keynote
of that marvelous scene. Gold shone in ear- jewels, in
hair ornaments, in chains and rings and bracelets of
the women there; gold, pale or ruddy, on their warm,
rounded bosoms and bare arms; gold in the massive
medieval service on the damask under the yellow glow;
gold in the heavy, two-handled, ancient kanthardi — th(
Greek wine-cups from the ruins of Tyrrhens, cups onc<
sacred to Bacchus, but now filled with sparkling Bur
gundy.

And Murchison, as he rose to speak, felt the heai
within him warm at sight of it. He felt his coura<
and defiance rise again. For everywhere in sight wa;
gold and power ; and the menace of the thing he f eare<
obscured by the present and by the cheering glow oi
wine, seemed very far and very tenuous.

This moment, the billionaire realized, was, in a way,

the culminant instant of his life.

80

BELSHAZZAB/S FEAST 81

He, he alone, by the power of his gold, his name and
dominance, had brought this scene to being. He alone
had here amassed these treasures; he alone had here
united all these representatives of wealth, of science,
art, literature, diplomatic and military force.

And though not one of all the guests would have ad
mitted it, nor he himself have consciously tolerated the
thought, still the subconscious realization that these
men and women at this banquet — which would have
shamed the feasts of Nero or Lucullus — had all gath
ered here to do him homage, dwelt in the depths of his
triumphant soul.

Homage to him and to his house ; homage to his wife,
his daughter ; homage to the vast and complex power of
his wealth and name. Homage!

Turned toward him, as in a golden haze, he saw the
faces of these supermen and women, these people of the
topmost pinnacle of human life.

Above the table, the embowering orchids and wis
tarias (brought from the Everglades and from Japan
for this one evening) sheltered a thousand South Amer
ican butterflies. Lives had been lost along the head
waters of the Amazon to procure them ; dark, obscure,
unknown lives.

The bill for flowers alone had run to sixty thousand
dollars. The value in silver, gold and glass was in
calculable. Four thousand yellow English lilies — lilies
which will not grow in America — had been imported es
pecially for the banquet at two dollars apiece. Mur-
chison had had special guards meet the ship, to see that
these lilies reached Edgecliff in safety.

The whole interior of the mansion had been trans-

82 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

formed into a flower garden. The stairways were lanes
of multicolored roses, growing in magnificent, genuine
antique Etruscan pots, each one worth a fortune in
itself.

In the banquet-hall a pergola had been constructed,
over which the various blooms were trained; the effect
was that of an open-air garden — an effect heightened
by the cleverly devised yellowish lighting, which per
fectly simulated natural sunshine.

The whole world, civilized and savage, had paid its
tribute to the decoration and the menu.

With deep content, save for one haunting fear, the
billionaire sighed. What more could man desire?
Power, wealth, adulation all were his. He was to ad
dress these folk ; and his speech was to be flung broad
cast for the world's plaudits.

The orchestra in the Italian marble balcony at the
far end of the hall, hushed at a signal from the major-
domo, now grew still. Along the table the undertone
of voices ceased. Murchison, sensing a dull anxiety
despite himself, glanced at the wondrous ivory clock,
with golden hands and numerals, over the fireplace at
the other end of the banquet-hall.

"Ten-twenty-eight," thought he, angry with himself
for even allowing thoughts of Storm's menace — idle
threats and bluster now they seemed — to intrude at
such a time. And, with a smile, he spoke.

"My guests, my friends," said he, very simply, slowly,
and with well-marked pauses, "you know as well as I
do that I am no orator. Whatever slight eloquence I
may possess is that of deeds, not words. Deeds that
have brought, I dare to believe, success, as the world

BELSHAZZAR'S FEAST 83

measures it and weighs such things. Deeds that, I
hope, have worked for the world's welfare, for the good
of all, the wider spread of truth, the better understand
ing between gold and toil, the broadening — even though
in a slight degree — of human life and human progress."

He paused and, a trifle nervously, glanced at the
clock again. Its hands, actuated from Washington by
an electric current, had already moved another minute.

The billionaire frowned slightly and cleared his
throat. His sharp eye caught just the slightest in
voluntary quiver of an ironical smile on the lips of An
drew Wainwright, half-way down the table on his right
— Wainwright, the copper czar. Mentally the bil
lionaire made a note of this. Even though he consid
ered the copper man his best friend, yet Wainwright
should smart for this, and soon.

Half suspiciously he looked along the lines of faces
turned toward his, picking up one celebrity after an
other — Stephen S. Baker, United States Secretary of
War; Fouchard, the world's foremost aviator; Gris-
comb, the venerable poet and litterateur; the painter,
Crewe ; Sir Edward Gray-Huber, Britain's ambassador ;
Baron Iwami, of Japan; Bishop Maxwell; Professor
Jassy from Rumania — and many others, too; in all,
perhaps, the most imposing body of representatives of
finance, the arts and letters, science and military power
that ever yet had come together in one room in the
New World.

Then his eyes wandered to the face of Mrs. Murchi-
son at the other end of the table. Not even her im
placable social poise could hide the fact that she ob
served his lack of ease, and was agitated.

84 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

He caught a warning frown upon her brow. The
tilt of her diamond-hasped aigrette spelled "Look out I"
And with a slight start he recalled himself. Again he
glanced at the disquieting clock. Ten-thirty, just!
Softly it chimed.

Murchison's heart seemed to stop a minute; then it
gave an unsteady bound. But the billionaire mastered
himself. He took a deep breath and, nervously twist
ing his mustache, began again :

"Progress is dear to me, my friends, as to you all
here assembled. For its sake, even the burdens of great
wealth are not too heavy to be borne in patience."

He was speaking faster now, as though to avert the
blow which, after all, he felt might smite him even at
his zenith of power.

"The possession of wealtji is no sinecure. It is —
that is, I mean — it lays itself open to the — er — the at
tacks, the envy and malice of the lower orders of so
ciety. We men and women, we of the upper class, into
whose hands Providence has — er — " (he glanced at the
bishop) — "has entrusted the propertied interests of the
world, we must bravely bear the weight of it, and — that
is to say, the stewardship rests with us."

Lamely he concluded the sentence. A paralyzing
stage-fright, a living fear, despite all his efforts to for
get Storm, had now, with the arrival of ten-thirty, be
gun to gain upon him.

Very warm the banquet-hall was, with all the cluster
ing lights and the presence of those many full-fed hu
man beings. Winter, and cold, and snow outside, all
were as though they had not been; yet Murchison felt
chilled. He shivered as the clock-hand clicked to

BELSHAZZAR'S FEAST 85

ten-thirty-one, and on his forehead a fine dew of sweat
beaded out.

The realization that several of his guests had noted
something amiss with him, that here and there along
the table a discreetly mumbled word was passing,
stabbed him with panic. And, fixing his gaze on the
heavily embossed Greek goblet of pure gold that stood
before his place, he hurried on:

"The stewardship — yes — that is what I mean. On
us devolves the task of protecting, of bulwarking prop
erty rights, of suppressing destructive iconoclasm and
discontent, of — of — "

Murchison floundered hopelessly. Into his mind had
just flashed an incongruous image. One course of the
banquet had included lobster; and now the words of
Storm vividly recurred to him:

"All those dark mounds stirred and crawled about,
with outspread legs, like half-dead lobsters let out of a
basket."

He shuddered slightly. A glint of the warm light,
refracting prismatically athwart the champagne, flung
a single beam of red into his eyes. Blood ! That wine
was blood, squeezed from the Manchurian pits !

"Bah !" scoffed Murchison to himself, passing a hand
over his forehead to steady his nerves. "What rot!
I've been taking a drop too much, that's certain.
Now — what was I saying?"

He reached for the golden beaker and took a swallow
of champagne. Up and down the table, more and more
significant looks were slyly being interchanged. Some
of the guests, too, shared the billionaire's opinion of his
own condition; a diagnosis, by the way, entirely in

86 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

error. The Bishop, quite merry with wine, grew red
in the face with suppressed laughter. Fouchard, the
French aviator, pressed with his foot the slipper of
Griscomb's daughter, with whom he had already begun
a cavalier flirtation. Secretary Baker, reputed a wit,
leaning most courteously toward Lady Gray-Huber,
murmured between his teeth:

"Quite superfluous, was it not, for our host to tell
us at the beginning that he was no orator?"

"The old fool's drunk, and don't know it!" growled
Wainwright, sotto voce, to Mrs. Crewe, at his left.

Mrs. Murchison, now really alarmed, was leaning
forward, her eyes fixed on her husband. Hildegarde,
too, flushed and anxious, sat watching him with both
her hands clasped tightly together.

But Murchison saw nothing of this. For his dis
tressed eyes, shifting from the gold cup to the clock —
now marking ten-thirty-two — and back again, had
sight for nothing else.

"It's past, the time's past, and nothing's happened,
damn the rascal!" he was thinking, a sense of relief
battling with his fear. "I knew it was all bluff and
bluster from the beginning."

Then, forcing his mind back to the interrupted speech,
humiliatingly conscious that — despite all his guests'
politeness — he was more and more exciting them to
covert smiles, again he faced the brilliant group, acme
and climax of the system, type of exploitation, of high
florescence fed from the rich subsoil of labor, anguish,
death.

"So, my friends," he hesitantly continued, "you, who
in your kindness have gathered together here to-night

BELSHAZZAR'S FEAST 87

to partake — ah — to share my — er — my humble fare,
I pray you, harken to my deep-grounded opinion. On
you, on us it devolves — that is, you understand, the
greater privileges we enjoy heighten our social respon
sibility.

"It behooves us, as I was saying, to defend the rights,
the God-given rights we possess. We must stand
shoulder to shoulder. We must realize our — er —
sacred trust — "

"Which trust, Henry? Oil, beef, mines or rail
roads?" murmured Wainwright quite audibly, draining
his glass.

"With all our power we must meet and silence the —
er — the calumniator, the malcontent, the — h-m! h-m!
I know I voice your sentiments in saying that, to the
last ditch, the very last pit — ditch ; I mean, we — "

The sentence was never finished.

For just as the clock ticked off ten-thirty-three a
ghastly change flashed over Murchison's face.

His eyes, fixed on the gold kanthardus before him,
grew wild and staring. They bulged with an expression
of unreasoning horror. His hands thrust out, as
though to repel some fearful menace. Then they
grappled the edge of the table to steady him.

And with a single cry, "My God!" Murchison
crouched there, ashen-pale and shaking, his bloodshot
eyes glaring in a frightful panic at the massive cup of
gold.

I

CHAPTER XI

THE HANDWRITING ON THE WALL

DEAD silence followed.

Muted and breathless, the guests sat statue-like, a
moment.

Then Mrs. Murchison cried:

"What is it? Are you ill?

And Hildegarde, unmindful of conventions, sprang
up and ran to her father's side. But Jinyo was before
her. Already he had Murchison by the arm.

"Sick, sar?" asked he. "I help you, sar, maybe?"

"No — no! It's nothing — just a little dizziness,
that's all," croaked the billionaire.

"Father! Father!"

Hildegarde, her mind distraught with visions of apo
plexy, once more, circled his shoulders with her beauti
ful bare arm. Musicians, servants, guests and all
waited spellbound with astonishment and fear.

"The — the cup!" gasped Murchison, pointing at it
with a shaking finger. His gaze never for an instant
left its heavy carvings. «D— d— damn it! Look!9'

His voice broke, in a kind of wail. Here and there
men and women were standing up, in panic. Mad?
Had the billionaire gone suddenly mad? Or was he
only drunk?

"The cup! The cup, I say!"

88

HANDWRITING ON THE WALL 89

There, already plainly visible to him, a great gray
blotch had spattered all across the figure of a dancing
satyr from whose horns one of the handles sprung.
And, as he looked, the gray blight spread, rapidly con
fluent, just as it had been upon the double-eagles in the
library.

All at once a little cry sounded near the far end of
the table — a cry in a woman's voice:

"Oh! My bracelet! What's the matter?"

And, as though to echo it, Crewe, the artist, ex
claimed :

"By Jove! I say — " And from his plate picked
up a diamond that had fallen, clinking, there. "What
the deuce?"

Griscomb caught at his shirt-front.

His gold studs had vanished; now the dress-shirt
gaped wantonly.

Fouchard clapped a hand to his jaw, where all of a
sudden two gold teeth had crumbled to bitter, acrid ash.

Two or three chairs scraped. Mrs. Murchison, per
fectly dazed, sat staring.

"Come, Jinyo — help me!" ordered Hildegarde in a
low voice, and tried to draw Murchison away. "He's
ill again." Then she looked up appealingly.

"Dr. Roswell?" said she.

The doctor, who had been sitting near the other end
of the table, arose.

"If you need me — ?"

"Oh, Dr. Roswell!" cried the billionaire's wife. She
caught him by the hand. "This has happened before —
some kind of unexplained attack ! What shall we do ?"

Roswell started toward Murchison, and everybody

90 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

stared, some standing, some still in their places at the
table. But now Murchison exclaimed in a harsh, dry
tone:

"No, no ! You — you don't understand. Sit down,
doctor — all of you, please. It's nothing — nothing, I
tell you ! I beg of you, be calm !"

And Roswell stood there, embarrassed, utterly
astounded, knowing not what to do ; bound by the rules
of conventionality, yet fearing much for Murchison's
mental status.

All up and down the table fear began to get its grip.
Another woman cried out, as her magnificent gold chain
went gray, then turned to powder, scattering jewels all
down her dress and even on the tablecloth.

Sir Huber clapped his hand to his breast, where
already two medals were crumbling.

Professor Jassy, seeing the kanthardus flecked with
white before his place, leaned sharply forward with a
stifled exclamation — an oath which, being in Rumanian,
nobody understood.

Three or four more guests, panic-stricken, stood up
and clutched at their disintegrating cuff-links, watch-
chains, ear-pendants, bracelets and rings.

But of all this Murchison was for the moment quite
unmindful. For, as though hypnotized, breathless,
agonized, he was watching the swift destruction of his
priceless treasures — worse, the crumbling of his hopes,
his power, Gold!

Have you ever seen the surface of a mountain pool,
calm, beautiful, golden in the sunset glory, suddenly
kissed by some wanton breeze? Have you seen the
irregular, flying touches of silver as the freshening

HANDWRITING ON THE WALL 91

wind sweeps over the still surface — watched the cats-
paws flick down, hither and yon, then coalesce and run
into one gray and troubled whole?

Thus did the golden chalice transmute as the billion
aire stared at it. Swiftly, inexorably, the Blight
struck in, fastening .itself in tiny, rapidly growing
blotches, till right before his eyes the cup went sil
very, then dull — till, even as Murchison's trembling
hand stretched out to seize it, the thing began to
crumble.

And all at once the farther rim, nearer New York,
broke down ; and over it, dissolving the friable stuff as
water melts salt, the clear champagne began to trickle.
Faster, ever faster, it flowed. Suddenly the whole
kanthardus slumped.

"Great God!" choked Murchison, recoiling.

Where the wondrously carven beaker had stood now
lay only a sodden little heap of wine-soaked dust. And
in a quickly widening circle the champagne soaked
away into the damask.

"Oh, look — look!" cried a voice.

Murchison raised his wild eyes.

Down the table Mrs. Griscomb was pointing at a
similar ruin close beside her hand. Other cries arose.

And now more than half the cups had crumbled;
and out of the disintegrating fruit-dishes were rolling
Normandy apples, hothouse grapes, Sicilian oranges —

"Na mu amida Butsu!" ejaculated the Baron Iwami.

The gold lace of his broad ribbon had turned a dirty
gray; the Order of the Rising Sun, upon the breast
of his heavily braided official coat, had vanished. Only
the empty red bit of Japan silk that had held it re-

92 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

mained, pinned to his uniform; while down his tunic a
little line of ash was scattered.

Iwami arose, and with a darkening face, with lids
drawn tight across his narrowing, angry, suspicious
eyes, glared defiantly at Murchison.

Hissingly he drew in his breath, in the Japanese
manner. He understood nothing; but the loss of the
Rising Sun was a hideous, an irreparable, catastrophe.
More easily might a blow full in the face be pardoned
and atoned.

"Come, father, come!" urged Hildegarde again.

And now Mrs. Murchison was at the other side of
the billionaire. Both women, with Jinyo and the doc
tor, were trying to get him away with as little struggle
and confusion as possible.

The table was in an uproar. More chairs slid; one
even fell over backward, clattering on the polished
floor.

More dishes kept crumbling, and the stiff table
cloth became a muck of wine and debris.

The servants, all dumb-stricken, gaped in horror.
Every semblance of order, of convention, was going by
the board. Stifled oaths, cries, unanswered questions,
all intermingled. Stark panic was at work.

But now Murchison, with a terrific effort, fought off
his terror. Up came his head. His lips twitched.
He began to speak.

"Listen, all you people.!" cried he. "Silence! You
must be calm; I'm master in this house! I must have
silence here!" And a lull came.

Pale or flushed, angry or terrified, all harkened.
The ragged line of people, some still sitting at the

HANDWRITING ON THE WALL 93

disordered table, some standing, waited his words.

"You don't understand; you can't!" cried the host,
stretching his tremulous hands to them. "Something
has happened here, something incredible, something in
explicable — for the present. That's all. Now — no,
no, don't interrupt me. We must try to keep cool.
We mustn't lose our wits, or worse will come of it.
We must be calm. Hear me? Understand?

"Certain phenomena have shown themselves among
us. Until we have the explanation I command you to
be calm, to keep still. In no other way can we save
the situation. For your own welfare you must obey
me!

"If one word of this gets out of this room — one soli
tary word — terrible results may follow. I can't explain
why just now, but the fact remains. I stake my life
on it. Our first emergency measure is this : Silence!

"You," and with a terrible face he whirled upon the
servants, "you hear and mark my words ! If any hint
of this becomes known outside, through any of you —
look out ! You know what I can do, and will ! I warn
you! Not one word!

"As for my guests," he continued, turning again to
them, "I count on their integrity and their sense of
self-interest to lock this happening away in their minds
and hearts, for a time — for a week at least — as though
nothing whatever had occurred. Nothing!

"And now grant me a supreme favor ; kindly retire at
once. You shall have a full and adequate explanation
within a very few da}^s. Meanwhile, any loss incurred
here, through this incredible accident, shall be made
good by me — far more than made good.

94 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

"Will the ladies immediately withdraw? As for the
gentlemen — I am going to assume the character of
chairman of an emergency committee and call on cer
tain ones to remain; to stay an hour or so, for urgent
and immediate conference, here, right in this room.
The others will accompany the ladies — and remember,
not a word of this is to leave my house !"

"Who stays, Murchison?" spoke up Wainwright, his
drawling voice a strange contrast to the billionaire's
staccato syllables. "If there's anything doing, any
excitement in prospect, I'd like to be in on it, you
know."

"I've already chosen you," answered Murchison.
"You stay!" His eyes searched the double line of
men's faces, as already the women, pale and wondering,
began to drift out of the great dining-hall.

"Baron Iwami," he continued, bowing a trifle, "may
I have the honor of extending my invitation to you,
also?"

The baron returned the bow with chill suavity.

"I serve where called," he answered in impeccable
English.

"Thank you. That makes two. I must have six in
all, including myself. I name Professor Jassy, the Sec
retary of War, and Sir Grey-Huber. There, that com
pletes the total, does it not? No objections? No
resignations?"

The designated men, by a murmured word, a nod, a
gesture of acceptance, signified their willingness.

The other guests stared at them in silence, as though
already some supernal knowledge, some wondrous clar-
•"'-TT of wisdom had fallen on them.

HANDWRITING ON THE WALL 95

Then, in the little ensuing pause, Dr. Roswell spoke
up, in a deep, grave, measured tone :

"Pardon my presumption, Mr. Murchison, but if
you can use another man of science, I am wholly at
your disposal. It's a frank offer. Accept or reject it,
as you wish. I shall not be in the least offended if you
decline. There's no personal interest involved, because
my gold is strictly a minus quantity. I speak only in
the interest of pure science and pure truth."

Murchison considered a moment. Then said he :

"That's certainly a frank offer and a manly state
ment. I shall answer you with a question, equally frank.
Have you at any time specialized on radio-activities,
as, for example, Professor Jassy has?"

Roswell smiled.

"Such," said he, "is a prophet in his own country.
My three-volume work on 'The Interrelations of Etheric
Vibratory Phenomena' has recently been translated into
half a dozen European languages, and also Japanese.
But here at home — " And he laughed good-naturedly.

Murchison flushed a trifle.

"I beg your pardon," he apologized. "The commit
tee will consist of seven members !

"And now," he added, turning to the men who
were still left there in that strangely disordered room,
"now all who are not on the committee will leave us,
at once. I ask this in the cause of our common wel
fare. And — a last word — Silence!"

CHAPTER XII

THE VOICE OF THE BLIGHT

WHEN, still uncomprehending, dazed, speechless save
for a broken exclamation or a muttered growl of dis
pleasure, the guests had quitted the banquet-hall, and
the musicians and servants — all save Jinyo — had silent
ly followed them and shut the huge sliding-doors, the
chosen six drew toward Murchison at the end of the
table.

"Now, then, if — " began the Secretary of War ; but
Murchison interrupted him:

"Got a pencil, there? A pen? Anything to write
with?"

"Here you go, Murchison J" And Wainwright
handed him a small, silver-mounted pencil.

The billionaire seized it without even thanking him.

He clutched a menu, all wet with spilled champagne,
and in a hasty scrawl wrote :

Beaulieu, look out sharp for reporters! Head them all off.
Net one word of any of this must get out. If a line appears in
any paper to-morrow, you're fired ! M.

"Here, Jinyo!" he commanded. "Rush this to the
majordomo. Have him read it, then be sure you burn
it. Smooth everything down as much as possible. And
don't come back here till I ring — if I do. Stay out!
And don't talk! Understand?"

THE VOICE OF THE BLIGHT 97

"Yes, sar." Jinyo, salaaming, withdrew.

"Now, gentlemen?" said the billionaire. "To busi'
ness !"

"Business!" echoed Wainwright. "What the devil
is it, anyhow? You invite me to dinner, Van, and
my watch and chain melt off me like ice-cream in Hell !
Come, now, what's up?"

The billionaire shot a penetrating glance at the
copper czar.

"This is no time for joking," he answered incisively.
"If what we have seen here is true, we're up against
a fearfully critical situation. Just what it all means —
well, that's for us to find out."

A pause.

He sat down at the end of the devastated table, and
motioned the others to be seated close to him at the
table-end.

Only Sir Grey-Huber and Baker, however, heeded
the invitation. The others remained standing. Jassy
crossed his arms; Roswell lighted a cigarette; and the
baron, his left hand fingering the vacant ribbon on his
breast, laid his right — brown, and fine, and immaculate
— upon the cloth, as he leaned forward to listen.

"Now," exclaimed the billionaire, "the very first thing
for us to do, I take it, is to get an expert opinion on the
— h-m! — the ruins, as it were.

"Here, in five minutes as you see, some hundreds of
thousands of dollars' worth of gold has undergone an
inexplicable change. More than that, absolutely price
less art-treasures have been destroyed. What's left?
What's the residue? That's our prime inquiry!"

He tried to steady his voice, but it cracked and shook

98 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

in spite of him. His face was gray as the ashes on the
saturated table-cloth ; deep were the lines in it, and elo
quent of fear.

"Dr. Roswell, and you, professor," he added, "what
do you make of — of these?"

He gestured at the mud-like piles of dust and cham
pagne, and at two or three plates which, though still
intact in form, yet showed a dull leaden hue under the
golden lights.

The doctor, bending over the remains of one of the
Jcanthardi, poked curiously with his finger. He rubbed
the stuff between his thumb and index, spread some in
his palm, and closely examined it. Then he shook his
head.

"Without some sort of chemical analysis — " he
began.

"You don't know, then?"

"Frankly, I don't. No use trying to bluff. It's a
material I've never seen, that's certain. But if I had it
in my laboratory — "

"This," interrupted Jassy, turning one of the plates
in his hands, "seems to be the silver, with a leetle, a
wery leetle off the copper alloy. But so porous haf I
never seen a metal. Something haf gone avay from
out it, I t'ink. It iss strange, eh? Wery!"

"Here, let me see it?" asked Roswell, taking it from
him, while the others watched with intense interest.

"Is there any gold in it now?" queried Murchison,
in a strange voice.

"Gold? Hardly! It's silver, at best. There's cer
tainly not one atom or particle of gold in it. But

what? See here— see the fine ash filter out, as I tap it !"

THE VOICE OF THE BLIGHT 99

He gave it a sharp rap, then another. With each,
out sifted a fine white dust. At the third, the plate
broke in two. Its cross-section was honeycombed
with infinitely little interstices, practically invisible to
the naked eye.

The copper czar took, and for a moment examined,
a piece of this strange, spongy metal.

"And you put your monogram on that, Murchison?"
gibed Wainwright. "You blazoned your name on
jwnkt"

"Extraordinary, my word!" exclaimed Sir Grey-
Huber.

Baker picked up one of the fragments and studied it,
while Iwami with a slim forefinger began feeling a dust-
pile on the table.

"Well, what the devil?" ejaculated he.

"Gentlemen," said the billionaire, "I assure you that,
fifteen minutes ago, this light and porous stuff, brittle
and worthless, was 21. 6K gold-plate. If it had been
pure 24K, or practically so, like those kanthardi —
well, you would have had to pick it up with a scoop !

"Now do you grasp the idea? Do you understand
the fact we're confronted with? Do you comprehend
that, under the influence of this strange force, whatever
it is, gold melts like sugar in hot water?"

"Incredible !" Grey-Huber cried.

Wainwright, a deep wrinkle drawn between his brows,
examined a little of the wine-soaked dust, poking at
it with a silver fork and spreading it across the
cloth.

As for the baron, he glanced with eager, suspicious
eyes from one to another of the party.

100 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

"It's surely not gold now? That's positive?" ex
claimed Murchison.

Jassy shook his head in negation.

"But, gentlemen, it was!"

"H-m !" sneered Wainwright.

"The rings and watches and scarf-pins — the ladies'
bracelets, chains and earrings — Baron Iwami's Order
of the Rising Sun — all were gold ! And where are they
now?" insisted the billionaire.

"But, man — " exclaimed the Secretary of War.

"Listen!" ejaculated Murchison. "Now I'll tell you
all I know. You won't believe me. You'll call me
insane — but here are facts, right here on this table, to
prove I'm not! For a couple of days past I've been
threatened by a crank — a sort of fanatic, I reckon,
with a fearful grudge against, well, against gold. He's
been making certain demands on me, you understand.
And his threats were far wider than just breaking up
my banquet or destroying a few hundred thousand of
my gold. He swears he'll make a clean sweep of all
the gold in the world !"

"Preposterous !" put in Roswell.

"Is it? If he can do this, what's to hinder — ?"

"Who is this crimson idiot, anyhow?" burst out the
copper czar. " Who is this run-amuck Malay ? That's
the first thing to know. Once we get hold of
him—"

"Let me speak, please! Of course I merely ignored
the fellow. I thought his threats of — h-m! — you
know, of turning gold into this, were just plain insan
ity. But now, gentlemen, we're facing a condition, not
a theory !"

THE VOICE OF THE BLIGHT 101

"The Hell we are ! Give him the Pen— or the electric
chair!"

"S-h-h-h! This is no time to lose our tempers.
We've got to keep cool, now, and go slow. Once we
start him in earnest, he will — I believe he really can —
sweep this world with a Blight such as it's never known !
He'll wreck everything, in one general smash, and be
glad to die in the ruins, like Samson, so long as he can
pull society down — and us, too, with it !"

"Kill the swine !" cried Wainwright.

"We need cautious heads now, and decisive action.
And we, gentlemen, just we seven, right here in the
room, must turn the trick.

"Nobody else knows this. Nobody must know ! The
whole campaign must be fought out in a day or two —
and won! If even the faintest suspicion of this new
power gets out, think what it'll do to the Street ! Why,
markets will tumble so fast, credits drop out, and busi
ness go to smash at a rate that will leave the whole cap
italist class gasping like a fish out of water. Quick
action, gentlemen!"

He paused and glanced from face to face, trying to
fathom them ; to probe the effect of his words.

"Here we are, seven of us, well chosen. We repre
sent, among us, high finance, science of the most ad
vanced type, military skill and power, and diplomatic
relations with two of the greatest nations on earth.
Great Britain, Japan, and the United States here join
hands for the safety, the salvation of the world! Do
you understand me? Shall we get down to ways and
means ?"

In the little silence that followed, Wainwright spoke.

102 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

"See here, Murchison," said he cynically, "this is all
bunk ! You know and I know, and we all know, that no
such power as this exists on earth. Gold is positively
indestructible ! You can sell the public 650,000 shares
of P. W. E., in two months, and put over whatever
you choose on the Interstate Commerce Commission —
to say nothing of a hundred other strokes of genius —
but you can't come this blight business on us! Some
smart Aleck has put up a clever job on you, that's
all. It's a good trick, I admit; but a trick, none the
less. How done? 7 don't know! But I bet you my
Santa Lucia string of copper-mines against your old
socks I can produce a stage-magician who can work the
same racket!

"Well, take my wager?"

Murchison, smiling very grimly, turned to Professor
Jassy, and to Roswell.

"Has any radio-active force been at work on this
metal and this ash?" said he.

"It look that vay, to me," answered the professor,
while Roswell nodded corroboration. "No other hy-
pot'esis explain the residue. But vat force it iss, I
cannot say — yet. Only I am off the opinion — "

"Bunk!" shouted Wainwright. "Stuff and non
sense! Give the damned fanatic a few hundred bucks
— if you don't dare slug him — and let him fill up on
whatever dope he gets his pipe-dreams from. I guar
antee you'll hear no more from him ! Here, gentlemen,
I'll start the slush-fund !"

Leaning back, heavily, he thrust his fat hand into his
trousers-pocket and drew out a black leather purse.

"Here goes for easy blackmail !" sneered he. "I head

THE VOICE OF THE BLIGHT 103

the list with one hundred dollars in gold — all in big
double-eagles — on condition that each of you chips in
the same amount !"

Tap-tap-tap! sounded a knocking at the door.

"What is it? Who's there?" called Murchison.

"Telegram for you, sar," came the thin and penetrat
ing voice of Jinyo.

"Bring it in !"

A moment later Murchison had ripped the yellow
envelope. At a glance he read:

Convinced yet? Yield, or widespread general campaign begins
at once. Nothing can stop it but capitulation. THE BLIGHT.

"See for yourselves?" bitterly smiled Murchison, and
tossed the slip of paper to the men, who fairly snatched
at it.

Only Wainwright did not reach out an eager hand
to grasp the telegram.

For, slumped far down in his chair, wordless, staring
and very pale, he was gaping at his empty purse — his
purse at the bottom of which, sifted down into the seams
and crannies of the leather, lay only a few pinches of
a fine, white, metallic dust !

CHAPTER XIII

THE SEVEN CONSIDEE

MURCHISON laughed dryly, as the copper czar, dump
ing this dust on the table, recoiled from it in terror.

"Charlatanism, eh?" queried he. "Sleight-of-hand
and mountebankery, what? I reckon you're settled, all
right enough. It all depends on whose ox is gored,
Andrew. No more objection to our campaign, I take
it? And no more idea of buying off the attacker?
Very good, then."

He turned to the others, while Wainwright still con
tinued, in, a dazed fashion, to stare at the dust which
now represented his gold.

"So now then, gentlemen," he dryly continued, "how
do we proceed? You've seen the facts. You see the
message, the ultimatum. Has anybody a suggestion
to make? Before midnight we ought to have mapped

a plan of campaign. It's now — now "

He glanced at the ivory clock on the far wall, then
broke short off.

"The devil!" he ejaculated. «If he hasn't hit that,
too!"

All eyes turned toward the clock. Blank, now, and
utterly devoid of information, the dial showed a clear
white circle. Golden hands and figures had vanished.

Baron Iwami exclaimed something unintelligible, in

104

THE SEVEN CONSIDER 105

his native tongue, with that same odd, hissing intake of
the breath. Professor Jassy frowned behind his glasses
as he rubbed his bald spot. Grey-Huber tugged at his
mustaches.

Then said Baker, banging his fist upon the table:

"Let me deal with him! I guarantee that inside of
twenty-four hours — well, he won't be sending telegrams,
that's all ! We have ways to do things in our depart
ment!"

"You don't understand," replied Murchison, creasing
the message nervously. "You don't grasp the thing at
all. If he's — er — dealt with as he deserves, that (he
claims) will turn the infernal plague loose upon society,
wholesale. It's only by diplomacy, by seeming to
yield, by temporizing until we get the position of advan
tage — only along these lines have we the slightest
chance of beating him !"

"Excuse me, sar," murmured Jinyo, bowing, "but
other messages come, also, just now. By the telephone.
Mrs. Farquhar, she say that her gold — how do you call
it, sar? — her — "

"Something lost, eh? How many people have called
up to report losses which they think have taken place
on the way home ? About how many ? Quick !"

"Seven, six, maybe. They — "

"No matter ! I don't care about details now. Tell
Beaulieu to smooth everybody down. Tell him to
phone 'em all that everything shall be investigated and
all losses more than made good, as I've said before — if
they'll keep their mouths shut! Understand?"

"Yes, sar."

"All right. Clear out now! YuTce."

106 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

When he was gone, Murchison said, very slowly:

"Gentlemen, this has got to be a Fabian game. We
must seem to surrender, then suddenly close in on him.
We must get his secret first — find how he's working, and
where, and wreck his damned machinery or process or
whatever it is. Since he's unbribable, that complicates
matters. But there must be a way. And we've got
to find it!"

Silence. Then in an altered voice said Wainwright :

"There's the devil to pay! If this is true — and
that's the way it certainly looks now — there's bright
blue Hades dead ahead for everybody that is anybody."

"Right you are for once," assented Murchison.

He sat down wearily, leaned his head on his hand,
and thought a moment.

"This time we're not up against any kind of deal
we're used to. It's not a raid on the market, a big
strike, a panic, or anything we can handle in the usual
way by manipulating the press and pulling the right
legal or judicial wires.

"We're face to face with a single determined, power
ful individual, a hitherto obscure scientist, chemist,
physicist, or whatever you want to call him. His name
is John Storm. He lives at 75A Danton Place, New
York City, in cheap little rooms. He's a poor man,
with nothing to lose but his liberty or his life, about
neither of which he cares a hang. And — "

"What's his demand, Van?" interjected Wain-
wright.

"His demand?"

"Yes ! Why not give him what he wants, and have
(done with him?"

THE SEVEN CONSIDER 107

"Give him what he wants ? Why, you're crazy !
He wants — he wants us to abdicate !"

"What?"

"It comes to the same thing. He's demanding that
we abolish armies and navies, altogether, and put a
stop to war. That is, make an end of our expansion,
our markets, our — "

"He must be an absolute lunatic!" put in Baker.

"Naturally. But he's got power ! And what could
be more dangerous than a madman with power? He's
like a maniac running the streets with a bottle of nitro
glycerine in either hand.

"I tell you, gentlemen, this thing is bigger and more
serious than any of you realize, as yet. The man is
absolutely determined to have his way with us. He
means to put an end to war. That involves the finish
of every moneyed man, every military man, every trust
and big business, and the whole capitalist world, in
general. It simmers right down to that ; there's no
alternative save universal wreckage. He wants us, us,
to abdicate!

"We're damned if we don't, and we're damned if we
do, gentlemen. We've got to fight. But how?"

He paused and looked from one to another of the
Emergency Committee.

The baron, arms crossed, was sunk in thought. Ros-
well, an odd smile on his face, was poking at a pile of
ash. Only Wainwright seemed to have a definite
idea.

"Has this Storm made any written demands? Any
thing, actionable, along the lines of blackmail?"

"Nothing, so far — save this!" And Murchison

108 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

tapped the slip of yellow paper that still lay, crumpled,
on the ravaged table.

"Damn! That's a pity. But how about having a
sanity commission appointed to examine him and put
him out of the way?"

"And have the gold-rimmed glasses of the experts,
their watch-chains and cuff -buttons and all that sort of
thing drop off while they're double-crossing him? And
let the secret out, eh? That shows your caliber!"
sneered Murchison. "Trouble enough as it is to keep
things dark till we can strike."

"A little hydrocyanic acid gas would settle him,"
said Wainwright very sarcastically. "Settle him and
his fool notions mighty quick."

"No, that won't do. That would only let the pes
tilence loose on the world in a single moment. You
can catch more flies with sugar, Andrew, than you can
with vinegar. You've been a financier long enough to
know iliatr

"Bah!" ejaculated the copper czar. "When we can
kill, why trap? We can't be beaten more than tempo
rarily. Nobody can hand it to us. We've got all the
power, and you know it. We hold the political machin
ery, the banks, railroads, mines, mills, factories, prac
tically every official in the country from President down
to Podunk dog-catcher; the schools, universities, press,
army, navy, police — everything worth having.

"And against us is pitted — what? One man!"

"There may be more, later."

"Well, what of that? If the people start to follow
this maniac, give 'em Napoleon's infallible prescription,
'a whiff of grape.' I guarantee that'll settle things.

THE SEVEN CONSIDER 109

Why, this man assailing us is like a lunatic attacking
Napoleon's Grand Army, itself, and — "

"One lunatic with a machine gun in 1815 could have
wiped out the Old Guard in five minutes," broke in
Murchison satirically.

"But, gentlemen, this is quite plain to me; we've got
no program yet. This conference has really accom
plished nothing, except to strengthen the decision that
we'll fight — to a finish.

"Let me suggest that we adjourn now. Each of us
should sleep on this. Each should ponder; should for
mulate some coherent plan. To-morrow I'll summon
you again, and we'll put our heads together for a final
settlement. Is that all right? Meanwhile leave Storm
to me — I'll dangle him along.

"So now, gentlemen, if there are no further remarks,
I declare the meeting closed."

A little pause followed. Then Jassy gathered up a
little of the dust, folded it in a menu, and slipped it into
his pocket.

"For analysis," said he.

"Good!" assented Roswell. "I'll work on the frag
ments of one of these plates."

The baron arose, bowed, and turned toward the door ;
and Sir Grey-Huber, shaking a puzzled head, followed
him. The little party drifted, wordless and glum, out
into the huge entrance-hall.

While Jinyo and two other valets were putting on the
guests' coats and the doorman summoning their cars,
Murchison maneuvered Baker and Wainwright into a
corner.

"Don't criticize," he growled beneath his breath. "I

110 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

know what you want to say, Andy ; and it's dead right,
too; I ought to have excluded Huber and the baron.
But under the circumstances I couldn't. It would have
played up all kinds of international trouble.

"They're done now. Dead wood, both of 'em — not
a spark of initiative or genius. They'll wait for my
summons — which won't come till everything's settled
and through with. So will Roswell. Jassy we need.
You two men meet me at my office, 10 A. M. sharp, to
morrow, and we'll get down to brass tacks. Are you
on?"

He turned, smiling, to grasp the hand of Sir Grey-
Huber, who now — muffled in heavy furs — was coming to
say good night.

With a few commonplace conventionalities the guests
took their leave.

Only when they all were gone did Murchison realize
the frightful tension he had been undergoing for the
past few hours.

Exhausted, beaten out, almost on the verge of a
nervous collapse, he locked himself in his own rooms.
He positively refused to see either his wife or daughter.
For their amazed queries he had no answer — nothing
but one stern command : "Silence !"

And until far into the hours of early morning his slip
pered tread sounded across the polished floor over the
precious Shiraz rugs ; pacing, repacing — pacing, re-
pacing, as he wrestled with the problems of the impend
ing ruin of the System.

CHAPTER XIV

THE TRIUMVIRATE

His face was drawn and hard, as at quarter to ten in
his office, on the southwest corner of Broad and Wall,
he greeted Baker, first to arrive.

Luxurious the place was; more like a salon than an
office where the reins of world-power centered, and
where deals involving uncounted millions of lives and
dollars had been put through.

Only with dulled and distant echoings the vital tides
of the city's life reechoed at that height and through
those thick plate-glass windows, those heavy silken
draperies.

The shades, partly drawn, excluded the cold glare of
the December morning, dour and ugly. Hidden cornice-
lights, tinted a ruddy pink, glowed warmly through the
room; and on the hearth a fire of first-growth Georgia
cedar diffused its pleasant, characteristic perfume.

All poverty, want, care, hunger, and human suffer
ing seemed but dream-wraiths in that atmosphere,
impossible to realize, to render concrete or intel
ligible.

Baker and Murchison, each hesitant to broach the
vital question, passed a few trivialities about the
weather. Before they had veered round to the matter
in hand Wainwright arrived, heavy and rubicund — a

111

112 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

bull of a man. Held tight between his lips a Mindanao
exhaled its perfume on the air.

He shook hands with both men.

"Good morning, Secretary! Hello, Van, how goes
it?" He tried to speak casually; but a tension was
evident between all three rich men — a strained endeavor
to appear natural and quite at ease. Truth was, they
all sensed the inherent capitalist instinct of suspicion,
ever existent among even the closest so-called friends
of that class.

The lack of real faith and trust and confidence made
itself manifest. No true fraternity in a common cause,
but only an alliance in face of peril, now united this
triumvirate ; a bond developed by the accident of having
shared the secret at the banquet of the night before.

Murchison, with a quick up-peering from beneath his
brows, asked sharply:

"Well, Andrew? Any news? Have you seen any
thing like a leak, in the papers ?"

"Not a word. I've looked 'em all over. Abso
lutely mum, thank God !"

"I guess you're right," answered the billionaire.
"I've bought them all, too. Haven't found a line of
trouble in any of them — but I thought I might have
missed it, somehow. And you, Secretary?"

"Everything's quiet, so far as I've been able to
learn," answered Baker.

"Good ! That's the first step. Any data, yet, from
Jassy?"

"Data? Rather !" He spread his hands before the
cheery blaze. "If we're ready now to cut out theoriz-
ings and get down to hard-pan, I'll report."

THE TRIUMVIRATE US

"Pray, do," said Baker. "The sooner we get to
work, the better."

"Right you are. On my way downtown I dropped
in to see J. According to him, the thing's real enough.
Here's his written analysis.

"Translating this out of the scientific hocus-pocus
jargon," said he, "it seems that Jassy has tried various
tests for gold, including the touchstone, the cyanid,
the pyrogallic salt method, and several others. No,,
gold, gentlemen. None at all. Nothing doing, abso
lutely."

"But the ash? What is it?" interjected Murchison
sharply.

"He doesn't know. Can't tell. And I'U give the old
wart credit for being honest enough to say so and not
to try to bluff. He can't analyze it — yet. It reacts to
no recognized agents; it has nothing in common either
with a metal, a salt, an acid, or an alkali. It's no
known element. In short, it's something entirely new
in the scientific world — so Jassy swears."

"And the piece of plate that Roswell took?"

"No gold. Roswell was about right in his snap-shot
judgment last night. I called him by 'phone this morn
ing. Gold, minus. Nothing but a flimsy, friable
honeycomb of silver and copper — the residue of the
alloy, you understand, after the gold vanished out
of it."

Wainwright blew a cloud of smoke, spat and looked
from one man to the other.

"This fact is worth knowing. As a practical min
ing man and a student of metals as commercial propo
sitions, these data are certainly invaluable to me. Sup-

114 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

pose the scarlet lunatic should turn his rays or what
ever he's got there on my Mexican properties or my
Rand holdings? The ore, gentlemen — the ore right in
the solid earth — wouldn't be worth a continental ex
cept for ship-ballast. Grand situation, isn't it?"

Silently pondered the billionaire. Then said he:

"I want to add a few words to that report, gentle
men."

He faced the other two.

"It's evident we're dealing with an irresponsible fa
natic, an avowed enemy of the existing order of right,
law, order, and profits. One who hasn't the slightest
consideration for established institutions or vested in
terests, if only he can work his will.

"Other things have happened since the dinner. Other
and very serious things. See here !"

From his pocket he took a little paper parcel, secured
with rubber bands. This he opened. Inside it appeared
a pinch of that now all too familiar gray dust.

"I reckon you can't identify this," remarked he.
"Last night it was the solid gold tiara of King Chlodo-
vic, the Goth. Age, fifteen centuries, roughly speak
ing. Intrinsic value, maybe only about twenty-five
thousand dollars ; but historically considered as an
antique and an objet d'art beyond all calculation.

"I kept it in my house-safe, you understand, in a
special flint-glass box, cased in mahogany. This morn
ing when I happened to think of examining it, to see if
anything had happened — well, you see all that was left
in the bottom of the box !

"Steel, gentlemen, is no protection against this van
dal. Neither is glass. Lead might be, or some other

THE TRIUMVIRATE 115

substance. But while we're trying to find it, and to
get our art treasures and our various forms of gold
properly encased, he may easily obliterate the whole
business at one blow. We must act at once — immedi
ately!"

"We went all over that ground, last night," said
Baker. "It's easy to say 'Act,' but how?"

"Buy him off — that's the easiest way!" exclaimed
Wainwright. "Saves trouble and publicity. Some
thing generous, of course. What you said last night
about his being incorruptible is mere bunk, Murchison.
Nobody is. Not one man or woman in this world — \
not one! Provided, of course, the price is right, in
quality or quantity or what not. Recipe! Find
what's wanted, and give it. Doctors call that a place
bo. I've changed my mind about opposing him, be
cause, as you say, while we were at it he might wreck
things right and left. The placebo treatment for
mine !"

He folded Jassy's report as he spoke, creased it care
fully and put it back into his pocket.

"Well?" asked he, drawing at his Mindanao and
squinting at the fire.

"I think, before we take up any line of action at all,"
suggested the Secretary of War, "we'd better see this —
what's his name? Storm? — this Storm individual, and
have a good, fair talk with him. It's just possible he
might be made to hear reason, h-m ! h-m ! — to take the
treatment suggested by Mr. Wainwright here, and to
save all parties concerned a great deal of trouble."

Murchison grimaced.

"You don't know the maniac !" snapped he. "If you

116 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

want to know him, though, it can do no harm. I grant
you that."

"Can you get him on the 'phone?"

"Of course!"

He pressed a button at the side of his desk. Almost
at once the door of the outer office opened.

"Hanscomb!"

"Yes, sir?"

"Call up 985 Gramercy and plug it in on this instru
ment her.e!" And Murchison nodded at the equipoise
bracket at his elbow.

"Yes, sir. In a second, sir."

The clerk, perfectly trained, withdrew.

A minute later the bell brr-r-r-r-rd sharply. Mur
chison swung the bracket round and took down the
receiver.

"Hello, hello? Storm?"

it 99

Murchison clapped a hand over the transmitter.

"Got him!" he announced, in a swift aside. "The
spawn of Hell!" Then, once more speaking into the
instrument :

"Good! Say, see here, Storm — Eh? You — you ob
ject to my comment on your person? But — but,
man — ! How could you have heard that? Are you
the devil, or what?"

« 99

"All right, I apologize. Forget it! See here, now,
Storm, I must admit, right off, you certainly kicked
up a devil of a row with us last night. Yes, we're
ready to talk business now. No more backing and
filling. I reckon it's time for us to dicker with you.

THE TRIUMVIRATE 117

before you cut up any more such capers. Can you
drop down to see us?"

"Eh? How do you know Wainwright and Baker
are here?"

"All right. Come on down, anyhow. We'll smoke
one of those famous cigars together, and — All right !"

ii 5>

"Ten- thirty, then, ready for business. O.K. Good
bye!"

Murchison hung up, pushed the bracket away, and
swung round in his big swivel-chair.

"What d'you think of that?" he croaked. "He's got
wireless beaten every way for Sunday ! I tell you men,
if we go on the assumption we're up against a simple,
ABC proposition, we're making a fatal mistake.
Storm is a hard nut, a damned hard nut. If we get
away with him at all, we'll be doing well. I warn you
now, think twice before you speak, and then only say
part of it !"

The half -hour had not struck when Hanscomb ush
ered the scientist in from the other office. Murchison
met him at the door, with a hand-shake of unfeigned
relief.

"Mr. John Storm!" said he, and gave the others'
names.

Then, when the conventional words had been ex
changed, he bade Hanscomb set big leather chairs con
veniently before the simulated good cheer of the hearth.

They all sat down, chose cigars and fired up.
Storm, awaiting overtures, gazed non-committally into

118 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

the fire. Murchison took off his glasses — silver-bowed
glasses, now, like his silver watch and chain — and began
polishing them on his handkerchief.

As for Wainwright, he leaned back, clasped his thick
hands over his head, narrowly eyed the newcomer, and
belched smoke.

"Well, now to business !" suddenly spoke up the bil
lionaire. "No explanations are necessary, Mr. Storm.
These gentlemen were both among my guests last
night."

"Of course. I know it."

"So? And you know all that happened there?"

"Naturally."

Storm spoke in even tones, without a trace of boast-
fulness, but as merely stating a simple fact.

"Very well — so be it," answered Murchison. "You
needn't, therefore, waste any time convincing Baker and
Wainwright, here, of your power. To misquote Cse-
sar, they came, they saw, they were convinced. They
are both equally interested, with me, in adjusting mat
ters satisfactorily. I reckon we can get together,
somehow or other, and — and settle things right for all
parties concerned, without the least hard feelings.
They've been helping me keep everything quiet — "

"Why do you want to keep this quiet?"

"Why? Oh — ah — well, you see — naturally, it's best
for this matter to remain in our hands, and not get to
the general public. It might — hm! — disturb confi
dence, you know, and — and — in short, Storm, you can
deal with all three of us as though we formed a unit."

"You're ready to make terms?"

"Terms ! Just that ! Terms !"

CHAPTER XV

THE ULTIMATUM

"TEEMS, that's the word now, Mr. Storm," spoke up
Wainwright. "Terms! What's doing?"

The scientist squinted at the fire.

"It's quite simple," he answered. "I've already ex
plained to Mr. Murchison." He spoke a trifle slowly,
to make each word quite plain.

"Terms! My terms are very simple. They're the
same to-day that they were yesterday; the same as
they'll be to-morrow and next week and next month — if
this matter takes as long as that to settle; which it
won't.

"The whole thing simmers down to this: I have a
new, wide-spreading, irresistible radio-active force at
my command. I have Power. I am utterly and ir
revocably opposed to military and naval expenditures,
to standing armies, militarism, imperialism, and war
fare. I intend to use my power to end those things.
That's all. Nothing hard to grasp there, gentlemen !"

"What are you?" demanded the copper czar. "One
of these crazy radicals?"

"No, I've never joined them — not politically, that is.
But in so far as they oppose warfare, I'm with them.
And that, you know, forms a considerable part of their

program, anti-militarism does. But we're not here to

119

120 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

talk politics. We're here to get together on this anti
war proposition, and the sooner we do it, the better."

The Secretary of War coughed.

"But, sir," interposed he, a little warmly, "aren't
these institutions necessary to civilized life?"

"No. On the contrary, they retard and injure it at
every point of contact. They bleed civilization almost
to death, not only by the slaughter of hordes of able-
bodied males, but also by unparalleled expenditures of
money, all unproductive."

"You exaggerate," put in Wainwright. "Compared
with the size and wealth of the country as a whole, our
bill for military purposes is no heavier than yours for
pipe-tobacco, or, at most, cigars."

As though to illustrate, he took another weed from
his waistcoat-pocket and lighted up.

Storm answered:

"No, sir, you're wrong. Just in money cost, this
item— including loss of producing power by the men
involved, interest on our public debt, pensions, and so
on — comes to more than $450,000,000 a year. Do you
realize what that money would do in the way, for in
stance, of education? It would keep 1,800,000 young
men and women in college a whole year, for one thing.

"A single shot from a single big gun of a single war
ship burns up the price of 20,000 loaves of bread ; and
men, women, and children are starving right here in
New York City, not a mile from this office ! One broad
side volley costs— think of it!— $20,000! The total
war-bill of the world, even prior to 1914, was eight bil
lion dollars a year!"

"Impossible !" cried Murchison, trying to sneer.

THE ULTIMATUM 121

"No, not impossible, but true. And all paid by the
masses to enrich your kind of people," Storm contin
ued. "All spent for expansion, for markets, for profits,
gentlemen. Of such is the Kingdom of Gold — which I
am going to destroy.

"Just try to imagine at least a little of this ghastly
situation — leaving aside all thought of the hideous pain
involved, the mutilation, blindness and agony, the suf
ferings of the millions of widows and fatherless children
— and you can get some faint idea of what it costs civ-
ilzation to 'brag and strut and piously prepare to set
tle disputes as tigers settle theirs — by force. It is as
if the fiends of Hell were crazed and loose on earth.
And this is statesmanship !' This is the Reign of
Gold!"

Wainwright, forgetting even to smoke, shifted un
easily in his chair.

"Admitting, for the sake of argument," said he, "that
all this is true — and you seem to have your figures
handy—"

"I have," interrupted Storm. "I've been specializ
ing in them for a long time. Well?"

"What can we do about it? How can we put an end
to all this?"

"I'll tell you later. Meanwhile, I want you to re
member that what I've told you is only a small part of
the story. When you sum up the totals for the past
century, human reason fails to grasp the truth."

"Don't, I pray!" cried Murchison, holding up his
hand. "I — you — you've already told us quite
enough !"

"Never mind, sir," retorted Storm. "You don't

122 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

know the hundredth part of it yet ; and these gentlemen
here have perhaps not even considered the matter at all.
The best available authorities give the total killed in
war for the past one hundred years at about thirty
million. These, mind you, comprising the best and
strongest men, leaving the weaklings to breed at
home. The wounded and enfeebled reach about one
hundred million. Non-combatants, women and chil
dren, killed come to twenty million at a moderate
estimate.

"So the grand total is 150 million human beings
'actually slaughtered or made feeble and unfit as a
result of only one hundred years' of "splendid" and
"grand" and "glorious" war — 150 million working-
class people.'

"Your kind of human beings, gentlemen? Hardly!
For years you people have urged others — "

"Hold on there!" ejaculated Wainwright. "You for
get the vast disproportion between rich and poor. If
more workingmen than millionaires have been killed in
war, that's only because millionaires are so compara
tively few!"

Storm laughed.

"So?" answered he. "Yes, of course. You rich
fellows are always so eager to go to the front! How
about New York City's crack regiment of business men
and millionaires, many of whom ride to their drills at
the Armory, in autos? When the Spanish war broke
out, did they go? Nothing doing! They voted not
to — promptly and intelligently voted to stay right at
home, and be safe. Only one member went, 'for a
lark,' he said. He got it — in the neck. And the pa-

THE ULTIMATUM 123

pers played him up for more space than they gave a
thousand ordinary, common soldiers killed !

"No, indeed, you leading citizens who reap all the
bonds and bonuses, you take almighty good care to stay
discreetly in the rear. Gad ! but the spectacle is nause
ating! You 'never will lead or be led to war.' You
have nothing to fear from hissing bullets, burning
fever, and the death-grip of devouring diseases in war.
You are never found where 'the lean, locked ranks go
roaring down to die!' The plain, cheap wage-slaves,
the common men, the fifteen-dollar-a-week clerks, the
blistered miners, the tanned railroad men, the grease-
stained mechanics, the soil-stained farm toilers know
that 'our very best people,' decline all glorious oppor
tunities to have their smooth, fat bodies exposed to the
steel-belching machines.

"You people know how to escape wallowing in the
blood-vats, how to avoid the horrid, rotten-edged, tet
anic, gangrenous wounds; the shells that, when they
strike, slough the flesh in large masses, with muscles
protruding through great rents in the skin; the mad
ness that comes from long exposure to the thundering
of siege-guns or from the sight of men shattered to
fragments, the feel of hot blood sprinkled over you,
the stench of the rotting bodies of your friends as yet
unburied. Such things are for the common herd, not
for the masters of Gold.

" 'The common earth mustn't drink up their rich,
aristocratic blood; no rough army surgeon shall carve
and slice and saw "leading citizens" and carelessly toss
their severed arms and legs into a bloody heap of flesh !
Certainly not!

124 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

" 'Such people as bankers, manufacturers, mine-
owners, senators, congressmen and the like are safe.
Their blood is richer and more sacred than the wage-
earner's cheap red ooze. They keep well out of dan
ger — and clip coupons — while the common herd is
rushed to the front where modern butchering-machin-
ery is ready to mow men down by the thousands, and
befouling disease is ready to rot the unspilt blood !' "

"Enough there!" cried Baker, his face hard and
white. "I refuse to sit here and listen to such out
rageous, such damnable aspersions on patriotism!"

"You be quiet !" commanded Storm.

He rose and stood before the three; and at them he
thrust his long, big-knuckled forefinger, as was his wont
when growing excited. "I haven't told you one per
cent, of the truth yet ! I've only outlined things to you.
You know as well as I do that Ridpath merely stated a
fact when he wrote :

To the capitalist it is all one whether this world blooms with
gardens, ripens with oranges, smiles with a harvest of wheat,
or whether it is trodden into mire and blood -under the raging
charges of cavalry and the explosion of shells; it is all one to him,
if his coupons are promptly paid and his bond is extended.

"And my old finance professor, back in the Univer
sity of Michigan, Professor Adams — do you know what
Jie says — and says truly?

It has been the immemorial policy of the money power to
foment wars among nations; to edge on the conflict until both
parties pass under the impending bankruptcy; to buy up the
prodigious debt of both with a pailful of gold; to raise the
debt to par; to invent patriotic proclamations for preserving the
national honor; and finally to hire the press of two generations
to glorify a crime!

THE ULTIMATUM 125

"Rubbish!" ejaculated Wainwright, angrily. "That's
all damned rot!"

"Oh, indeed?" retorted Storm. "And perhaps Rus-
kin was indulging in rot, too, when he said :

Capitalists, when they do not know what to do with their
money, persuade the peasants that the said peasants want guns
to shoot each other with. The peasants accordingly borrow
guns, out of the manufacture of which the capitalists get a per
centage, and men of science much amusement and credit. Then
the peasants shoot a certain number of each other until they
get tired, and burn each other's houses down in various places.
Then they put the guns back into towns, arsenals, etc., in orna
mental patterns, and the victorious party puts also some ragged
flags in churches. And then the capitalists tax both annually,
ever afterwards, to pay interest on the loan of the guns and
powder.

"Such, gentlemen, are some of the facts — some few
of the facts. My ultimatum: War must cease! It's
going to cease — I'm going to make it. You're in my
hands, you and yours are. When I close my hand, you
get squeezed, that's all. Do you force me, gentlemen,
or do you yield?"

And folding his arms, he faced all three of them, with
an expression far from good to look upon.

Baker was the first to frame an answer.

"Suppose," said he, laboring to curb his anger, "sup
pose we admit everything, what then? What's your
program?"

"This!" And Storm tapped off the items on his
fingers.

"First, call an international conference of bankers
and big financiers.

"Second, insure widespread newspaper publicity for

126 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

all your deliberations, which will instantly fix public at
tention and prevent any reneging on your part. I'll
see to the publicity end of it all right enough.

"Third, get into cooperation with the Proletarian
Peace Secretariat at Brussels.

"Fourth, adopt my graded plan for international
disarmament.

"That's all. The alternative: I smash your gold
and the world's gold to powder !

"Your gold! Your 'pail of gold' that buys the na
tions' lives ! A pail of gold, condensed from a sea of
human blood! Brains don't rule to-day. Intellect is
dethroned. Conscience has abdicated. Soul is no
more. Honor is forgotten. Common human decency
is a thing of the past.

"Gold ! In its train come war and want, famine and
pestilence, disease and death — child labor, unemploy
ment, prostitution, drunkenness, tyranny, extortion.
Gold ! Why, if one of you men should ever happen to
reach heaven by some fluke, you'd be like Mammon in
'Paradise Lost' —

E'en in heaven his looks
Were always downward bent, admiring more
The riches of heaven's pavement, trodden gold,
Than aught divine!

"Gold, indeed! But now I've got the whip-hand of
you people. The coin in your pockets and the rings
upon your fingers are no easier for me to annihilate
than the heaped-up sacks of gold in the national treas
ury — it's all one to me !

"No matter where gold is, I'm its master. I warn

THE ULTIMATUM 127

you — and, through you, the whole capitalist class of the
entire world. I am going to have my way with you.
Mark that — I'm going to have it, to the full !"

He paused, took a few steps along the richly-carpeted
floor, then returned and gazed at the triumvirate in
silence.

"Well?" said he.

Murchison was the first to answer.

"Surely," said he, his voice trembling a little despite
him, "surely you'll be moderately reasonable. You
can't expect a question of this magnitude to be an
swered in a day, or even in a week. Surely you'll give
us—"

"I'll give you just half an hour; just thirty minutes,
to decide whether you'll take a hand in stopping all this,
or not. For once, you men are going to be spoken to
by another man on equal terms at least. For once,
you're going to be treated like ordinary human beings,
not demigods on wheels. You're going to realize facts ;
going to toe the mark and take another's will for law.

"There's no use in delaying this affair. I don't
intend to have you framing any crooked, devious plans
to try and checkmate me — not by a long shot. Half
an hour is time enough for Yes or No!

"It's now 11.30. If you 'phone me Yes by noon, all
well and good. We'll get down to the first, real, prac
tical step. If you say No, or don't call me at all be
fore then, look out ! Incidentally, my hours open for
negotiation with you will be 11.30 to 12, each day. The
rest of the time, whatever happens, you needn't hope
to get any attention from me, for I won't give you any.
Understand?"

128 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

"What — what do you — intend — ?" stammered Baker.

"Never you mind. Watch Wall Street, that's all.
You yield, or I'll give you a fifteen-minute sample dem
onstration.

"And now, gentlemen," he continued more calmly,
with an enigmatic ghost of a smile, "now, really, I
must be leaving you. I've got one or two little matters
of some importance to look out for. Remember, every
thing's up to you. I've given you my program. Let
me have yours — by 12, sharp. I bid you all good
morning !"

He bowed curtly. Then, without another word, but
with a look that swept them all in one common mis-
prisal, he walked out of the office.

And the door, closing behind him, hid him from the
sight of three of the angriest, most disconcerted men
who ever sat and plotted in the robber-caves of Wall
Street.

CHAPTER XVI

THE DEATH PACT

FULL two minutes passed before a word was spoken.

Then Murchison, tugging at his ragged, gray mus
tache, said with an ugly laugh :

"You see? I reckon there'll be some lively happen
ings before long."

"Just an ordinary lunatic!" ejaculated Baker, with
a thin-lipped smile. "One of the kind that ought to be
put out of the way on general principles, pro bono pub-
lico, and all that sort of thing. The quicker we do our
manifest duty, gentlemen, the better."

Wainwright pulled at his cigar, but it was dead.
With an oath he flung it, precious though it was, into
the fire. He stood up.

"Right you are, Secretary," he answered. "We were
pinheads to ever let him get away, like that. We ought
to have nailed him, while we had him. How? Cinch!
A scrap — a knock-out — then a frame-up. Self-de
fense. We could have put him in the morgue, or
Bellevue, and never batted an eye. Got away with it
as easy as a cat lapping cream. But now — !"

He took a turn up and down the office, clenching and
opening his hands, as though the powerful fingers itched
to be at Storm's throat.

"I guess he means to force our hand," said Mur-

129

130 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

chison. "There doesn't seem to be any probability of
compromising. Any fool with half an eye could see
he's 'way out of the line of bribery or graft. I diag
nose him as a monomaniac of a particularly visionary
type. The only thing to do is stamp him out — at
once !"

"Bump him off, quick ! That's the talk !" chimed in
the copper czar. "Put the Blackertons onto him —
they'll do the job, and nobody the wiser!"

"Shhh!" cautioned the billionaire, glancing round,
nervously. "Not so loud ! Still, it ought to be clearly
realized by all three of us that the emergency 'is un
speakably vital. Under the circumstances, the death-
penalty for any one of us who by word or look or sign,
directly or indirectly, divulges this secret to any human
being whatsoever, would be a mighty small punishment.
I, for one, seal my mouth and numb my hand against
any such divulgence. And I swear this, gentlemen,
with all the earnestness of my being. We three hold the
world in our hands to-day. We three must save it!
Nobody can help us; nobody can advise. We must
decide right here, this very morning. And what we all
agree on, we must do !"

For a moment no one spoke. Then said Wainwright :

"I guess I know a thing or two about 'direct action,'
as it's called, if it comes right down to a scrap. And
all I know is at your disposal. If you've got to hit,
hit only once, and hard; that's my say, and to Hell
with the Constitution! When it comes to a frame-up,
I'm there with the goods. I haven't been through a
dozen strikes without learning a whole lot. You re
member how I handled that Coatli Valley strike in '99?

THE DEATH PACT 131

They wouldn't mine gold for me, the sons of dogs, so
I gave 'em the lead treatment. They started in talking
about their rights and the law and all that line of
bunk. They even had the nerve to put up the flag over
their tents — the American flag — what d'you know about
that? Did I argue or arbitrate? The Hell I did!
I turned about six hundred gunmen in there with a
dozen Maxims — and the men went back to work, on
my terms — what were left of 'em ! We spaded in about
seventy-five, in all, counting the women and their brats.
No more strikes there; no more Constitution or flags,
you bet '

"And that little mix-up with the Rio Hondo bunch?
Huh ! After I flooded the two lower galleries, that was
settled mighty quick! I bet the survivors are talking
about that unfortunate accident to the pumping-
machinery even yet! Oh, it broke the strike, all right
enough. Total expense to me: Pumping the galleries
dry again, and paying for two hundred and thirty-six
pine coffins, cheap by the dozen.

"Leave Storm to me, gentlemen. We'll soon have
an end to all this bunk and chatter !"

Then Murchison spoke:

"You forget," said he, "that if he's done away with,
or even molested, he'll leave things working in such a
way that — "

"You believe that, do you?" spoke up Baker. "Well,
say — look here, Murchison, I'll take my chance, so far
as I'm concerned, with any of his posthumous activities.
There's a good old French maxim, 'Kill the beast and
you kill the poison,' that fits in here to a T !"

"I don't know French," broke in Wainwright, "but

132 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

I know U. S. A., and my motto is Slug!" He turned
on Murchison. "Afraid he'll bite you after he's dead,
are you?" he gibed. "Where's your nerve? Ain't
getting old, are you?"

The billionaire flushed slightly at the taunt, but
made no answer.

"I think you're right," said the Secretary of War.
"You've analyzed the situation correctly. Legal means
won't reach him. An insanity commission or an arrest
and conviction on any charge would get this into the
papers and play the deuce with everything. We can't
handle a cobra according to law. The only thing to
do is smash its head with the first thing that comes to
hand!"

Murchison coughed uneasily.

"You forget the immediate and pressing question,
my friends," said he. "We've already wasted ten
minutes of our time of grace. At 12, sharp, unless
we capitulate in the meantime and enter into further
pourparlers with him, he means to spring some kind
of a coup on us.

"What he means to do, I don't know, but I reckon
it will be mighty painful. That experience at the little
dinner out at Edgecliff hasn't made me over-anxious to
try any encores. In view of possible contingencies,
wouldn't it be the part of wisdom at least to call him
up, when we calculate he's home again, and tell him
we're ready to concede something?"

"Concede nothing !" shouted Wainwright. "No more
stalling on this game! Send a slugger up there to
'get' him, would be my way. A little strong-arm work
is what I vote for, P. D. Q. ! There's no such thing

THE DEATH PACT 133

as mutual concession, with a mule like him! He
wants it all, or nothing. / know the type !

"No, sir, there's nothing doing with diplomacy now.
Let the lunatic do his worst, that's all. Inside of
twenty-four hours he's through. Let him go it while he
can. That's my last word!"

"Right!" exclaimed Baker, nodding vigorously.
"You're clearly in the minority, Mr. Murchison.
There can't be any further negotiations. All that re
mains to do now, is to choose — er — the means, and —
h-m! — the person."

"Leave it to me!" exclaimed Wainwright, snapping
his jaws. "I'll settle him and do it right. And if
there's any trace or clue, if he doesn't just simply drop
out and vanish, like a pebble down a mine-shaft, you
two are free to blow the game and send- me to the
chair !"

Murchison laughed and caressed his chin.

"You always did like a joke, Andrew," said he.
"That sort of thing doesn't happen to — to us, you
know. Still, it might be embarrassing if anything
leaked out.

"Of course, I'm not doubting your ability, and all
that ; but I've had a little experience myself in handling
men, and I reckon maybe I've got a few ideas. The
fairest way, all things considered, will be for us to
ballot for the — the job, eh? Then, whatever happens,
there can be no come-back, no if's, and's, or but's."

Speaking, he had drawn some letters from his breast
pocket. He tore from one of these a half sheet of
blank paper. This he creased and neatly divided into
three small slips of equal size.

134 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

He took his fountain pen— a plain rubber-barrel
now, with a platinum pen-point— and removed the cap.
The two men, watching, saw his hand move as though
making a little cross on one of the slips of paper.

"I've marked one ballot," announced Murchison.
"I drop them into this hat of yours, Mr. Baker."

Leaning forward, he took the tall silk hat from the
top of the unit book-case where it stood. "I now hold
this hat above the level of your eyes, so. The man
who gets the marked ballot is elected to the high honor
of freeing the world of the most dangerous calamity
that has ever threatened it.

"But, note this ! Whoever it may be, says no word !
Not a word, gentlemen ; not a sign ! The two who lose,
must never know who the favored one really is! Do
you understand?"

"I get you, Van," answered Wainwright. "Come on,
let's go to it !"

Baker nodded comprehension.

"So you see," continued the billionaire, with a smile,
"what will happen is just this: Storm disappears, and
only the man here who does the job knows how. He
alone knows who the savior of society really is. This
will keep all parties concerned from even the trifling
discomfort that might result were the ballot known.
You get the idea? Yes?

"All right. I reckon we're ready for business then.
Draw, gentlemen !"

In silence they thrust their hands up and into the
hat, first Baker, then Wainwright. Each, holding his
slip concealed in his palm, glanced at it— Baker, with
nervous haste, paling a trifle ; the copper czar eagerly.

THE DEATH PACT 135

Murchison took the remaining slip, gave a look,
crumpled the bit of paper and tossed it into the fire.
It smoked, flared, and vanished, a gray ash.

At sight of the ash, he started slightly, but his face
was masldike in its non-committal calm.

The three men silently gazed at one another; and in
their eyes already a strange, furtive suspicion lurked.
You might have said they were seeking each to fathom
the other's thoughts.

Had Baker and Wainwright been able to read the
billionaire's, this is what they would have seen:

"Infernally good idea of mine that was, to leave
all three of the slips blank, eli? For now they are both
out of the game. Now I've got carte blanche — now 7,
and I alone, can deal with Storm in my own way!"

But there was little time for reflection. For as they
stood there, the big clock over the fireplace chimed
twelve strokes.

And hardly had the echo died, when, down below in
the street, far, faint and vague, yet steadily growing
louder and more ominous, a sound was already audible.

A sound — the sound of men in turmoil, of confusion,
fear, panic.

A sound the like of which none of them ever yet had
heard — a sound that shot them through with sudden
apprehension.

With a brutal curse, Wainwright sprang toward the
window and peered far down.

"Blue Hell!" he shouted. "Noon already — and
Storm's at his work ! At his work, down there in Wall
Street!"

CHAPTER XVII

PANIC !

THE copper czar was no sooner at the window than
Baker and Murchison joined him. With a feverish,
impatient hand the billionaire ripped the curtains
aside. And the triumvirate peered out.

Such was the vantage of the office that nearly the
whole length of Wall Street, eastward from Broad, lay
there before them like a map. The curve of Broad,
too, gave them a partial view of it almost to Beaver.

Diagonally across from them, the low, massive, iron-
barred Sub-Treasury squatted over the incredible hoard
in its vaults, like a grim and fabulous bird brooding
a nest of gigantic golden eggs.

Further down, the three plutocrats could see the
fluted columns of the City Bank facade. Within their
field of vision lay the vast central aorta of the whole
world's money system. And in this pulsing artery
they saw at once that some very grave disorder was
at work.

At first glance it was impossible to analyze any
thing, to disentangle the complex elements, to gain an
adequate conception of that swiftly growing panic.

The Street was, indeed, not yet very conspicuously
crowded. So far as that was concerned, one might

136

PANIC! 137

have thought the usual noon-hour throng was hardly
doubled down Wall and along Broad.

What struck the senses was rather the intense agi
tation of the individuals composing that mass — the
quickly forming and as rapidly dissolving groups and
knots that swirled, stopped, eddied, and struggled on,
now this way and now that, aimlessly; the loud and
ever-increasing tumult of voices, cries, jeers, yells,
oaths that, as Murchison threw up the window, swelled
into a hoarse and terror-smitten roar, the mob-roar of
frightened, uncomprehending men.

Already the mob-psychology was at work — terror
stimulating terror, reason swept away, the thousands
lashing themselves into blind panic.

"Look! See that chap; gone mad, I swear!" ejacu
lated Baker, pointing, as he seized Wainwright's arm.
"Nobody but a madman runs like that!"

The others looked.

There, rushing where a free space offered, fighting
his way along with blasphemies where the crowd im
peded, a hatless man, perfectly out of his senses, was
making way directly toward them.

The coat was well nigh torn from his back. Both
hands were raised and shaking; his face, as they
glimpsed it, showed white and set and staring.

They saw his mouth open and close, close and open,
as he yelled; but no word reached them. Then, all at
once, he vanished ; and the mob passed over and obliter
ated him.

Murchison pursed his lips in a long, low whistle.

"I know him!" cried he, in a shaken voice. "Why,
that was Carter — Carter, of the Butchers' and Drovers*

138 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

National! And he had a leather belt on; he had a
satchel. Didn't you see it?"

"Going to make a deposit — gold! All gone — lost —
only ashes left! My gold, in part! My gold! My
God!"

"Yes, it's your God, all right !" sneered Wainwright.
"You certainly hit it that time, Van !"

Baker gasped, but found no word to speak.

"No wonder the wretch went wild," muttered Wain-
Wright. "But— see there!"

He pointed at the steps of the Sub-Treasury.

There, a well-dressed man, also hatless, was on his
knees, clawing at the stones. They got only one
glimpse of him, before he, too, was swept away.

Another man, two men, five, they saw, kneeling here
and there, some on the sidewalks, others in the gutter.
Still others were clutching at their cravats, staring
at their hands, even turning their pockets inside out,
as the hurly-burly jostled them along.

"The fools!" sneered Baker. "Thinking of their
own petty losses; the dribbling ash that's leaked out
through their pockets or fallen from their rings or
pins, when Hell's to pay !"

Murchison turned and ran to a table at the other
side of the room. He jerked open a drawer and hastily
snatched out a magnificent pair of prism-binoculars
that at times he used for diversion, to watch the river
and the harbor with.

Back at the window with them, he quickly adjusted
the lenses. Then he leaned both elbows on the sill, and
sighted down into the howling pack below.

He was not the first to think of glasses. Already

PANIC! 139

half a dozen pairs were visible at different windows up
and down the two streets affected by the Blight.

And every window was already crowded. Most were
open. Brokers, clerks, stenographers, all were leaning
out; bank-president jostled messenger, and financier
elbowed telephone-girl in the perfect democracy of sud
den excitement ; even here and there upon the roofs
and along the cornices, men were creeping, holding on
at perilous heights and peering with extended necks
and pale, anxious faces. And every door of every
office-building was spewing out crowds. Torrents of
anxious or sensation-seeking men and women were qas-
cading through the swiftly-whirling revolving doors,
out into the rapidly-increasing jam upon the street.

"Fire! Fire! Where's the fire?" hundreds were
.shouting. "What's the riot about? Who's killed?
Police ! Police r

Somewhere, out of the range of vision, sounded the
brazen clang ! clang ! clang ! of an ambulance-gong.

"I reckon somebody's hurt, or fainted," said Mur-
chison, passing the glasses to Wainwright. "Here, you
take a peek. Think of the destruction that lunatic has
let loose !"

Down below, in front of the Exchange, a louder
tumult rose.

Wainwright leaned far out, to look.

"Fight," he announced, laconically. "Looks like
somebody had accused somebody else of pocket-picking.
Holy cats ! What a wallop ! Ah ! Now the cop, eh?"
And in spite of his wrath, he chuckled ; for Wainwright
loved a knock-down row.

The other two, looking where he pointed, saw a blue-

140 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

coat breasting through the surge of the mob. The
long stick rose and fell, rose and fell again; and men
went down at every blow. Then on the run a squad
of reserves came pushing.

A revolver squibbed. Rose a yell. The crowd broke
and ran — a shoving, howling, frenzied horde.

And, hardly a moment later, with a clatter of hoofs,
a patrol arrived. Some one was bundled in; then a
limp figure was half-dragged, half-lifted up and van
ished in the Black Maria.

Dense, now, the press was, angry and wild and brutal
ized with fear.

A shrill, howling voice pierced through the tumult.

"See there!" snapped Murchispn. "The inevitable
prophet !"

Up on to the pedestal of the Washington statue, in
front of the Sub-Treasury, a gaunt, disheveled man
had climbed. Hanging on with his left hand, he waved
his right in frenzied gyrations. Now he shook his fist
at the swift-gathering audience, now vibrated it at the
tall office-buildings all about, now raised a shaking
forefinger to heaven.

It was all plain enough, even though his words were
lost. The three watchers understood.

Wainwright laughed, as he squinted through the
binoculars.

"He's certainly giving them blazes," announced he.
"And — funny! — there's a listener who's just lost his
gold cuff-buttons. He's clawing around for them.
The Wrath to Come doesn't interest him any more !
And — now the police, again !

"There — see the prophet fight!" continued Wain-

PANIC! 141

wright. "Ah! Now he's kicking at their hands — now
they've got him ! He's down. There he goes ! Ninety
days for him, all right."

"Ninety years would be better," snarled the Secre
tary of War. "If we had the soldiers we need, and
the guns, we'd soon put an end to such infernal rubbish.

"Give me a single Maxim, up here — "

"Good work! They've got a hose on the mob!"
And Wain wright bellowed with joy as a squad of fire
men, battling down Nassau, began ripping into the mob
with swift white water. The crowd dissolved, with
terrific uproar, only to form still further down.

"Give me one Maxim, I repeat," continued Baker,
"and I, personally, would guarantee to clear the Street
in five minutes. Five? Three? A good Gatling
would be even better. It throws eighteen hundred
nickel-steel projectiles a minute, and every one can rip
through ten men ! The swine ! Td teach 'em !"

"You forget," said Murchison, "that these are not
the rabble! We're not on the Bowery, now — this is
Wall Street!"

"That's right," acknowledged Baker. "I forgot.
But never fear, there'll be rioting all over the city.
Guns will be needed, all right.

"You see now, Murchison, see with your own eyes,
what you big financiers must back me in? I hope this
lesson won't be lost on you? We need Gatlings in
every police-station in New York and all our cities —
we need loop-holes and towers — every bit of stone
paving should come up, and wooden blocks go down.
Barricades of wood are no good against machine guns.

"We need a hard-hitting, straight-shooting State

14.2 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

Constabulary all over the country. One of these days
you're going to regret it bitterly that we haven't got an
army of five million men here in America. Why, any
fool of a farmer knows he's got to have a long, sharp
goad to drive oxen with !"

"I reckon that's right, too," answered the billion
aire. "Well — we'll see, we'll see, at once! But there's
Ho use watching this cage of insane monkeys any
longer. It's cold at the window. Enough ! To work !"

The Secretary and Wainwright drew back into the
room. Murchison closed the window.

"Damned good scrap, all round!" approved Wain
wright with enjoyment. "Only it was too much water
and not enough claret. Well, there'll be claret enough,
later, once we get at Storm !"

Deadened now, the noise of the panic rose only as
a dull hum to their ears.

"This session is ended," announced the billionaire.
"Even before Storm's fifteen-minute gambit is ended,
I move we begin the checkmate."

"Agreed !" said Wainwright.

"That's the talk!" Baker assented. "Come, let's be
going."

A couple of minutes later they were ready for the
street.

"To work!" repeated Murchison, as, all together,
they left the warmth and luxury of his office.

CHAPTER XVIII

THROUGH THE MAELSTROM

INTO the outer, the active business office, they passed.
Already Murchison was thinking.

"This puts the seal on the death sentence. Has
Storm attacked the Sub-Treasury board yet? Heaven
forbid! No matter; even if he hasn't, he's done. If
he had stayed his hand before precipitating this riot,
he might have been spared. But now, now that the
secret's out, now that he's tried to stampede us by
throwing down the gauntlet, we fight. Storm has got
to die!"

He shook hands with the other two conspirators.
And though all three of them assumed cordiality, yet
that secret, lurking unspoken repulsion smoldered in
their eyes.

Who was to be executioner? The question, in spite
of them, oppressed both men who did not know. With
a forced ease they took their departure.

"To-morrow at this time, shall we meet here?" asked
Murchison, bowing them out. "I assure you, by that
time, the matter will be definitely settled. Good-day.
Good-by!"

When they were gone, he had his hat and coat
brought, ordered his car from his private garage on

William Street, and in a few minutes — leaving word

143

THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

that he might not be back that day — went down in the
elevator.

Already, by the time he reached the secure comfort
of his limousine, the newsboys' shrill cries were echoing
through the cracks and gashes that New York calls her
down-town streets.

"Hextry! Hex-try \ Mystery hits Wall Street!
Gold melts like snow ! Here y'are ! All about de Blight
o'Gold! Hextry! HexJr^."

Murchison leaned out of the window of his machine.

"Boy ! Boy !"

He took all the papers that the swirling, snatching
throngs had left the lad, counted them quickly, and
paid over the exact price, sixteen cents ; then ordered :

"Thomas, drive up Nassau, past the newspaper
offices. I want to see the bulletins."

"Yes, sir."

The car vibrated with the acceleration of its power
ful engine. Then, grumbling, it moved slowly away
from the curb, and, plowing like one of Alexander's
battle-chariots through the Persian hordes, began to
make way up Nassau.

Eagerly Murchison's eyes, blinking behind their
silver-bowed spectacles, devoured the scare-heads, read
here a line, then a paragraph, and, with ever-growing
anger, glanced up at the all but impassable swarms
that packed the narrow streets.

"Lucky I'm getting away from the office so soon,"
thought he, as the car stopped at the corner of Liberty.
"A few minutes more and telephone messages, tele
grams, and reporters by the hundred would have been
piling in on me. Nothing to say, of course; but no

THROUGH THE MAELSTROM 145

matter what I might have said, or refused to say, it
would have gone into type a foot high.

"Better, all around, if I'm not visible just now. I
reckon my game, and Wainwright's, and the game of
all us fellows, will be just to lay low till this insane
spasm of terror dies down a little."

He reached out and pulled the curtains of the car,
leaving, however, a two-inch space to peek through.

But the car, which had succeeded in making another
block northward, now again came to a dead halt at the
intersection of Maiden Lane.

Not only financiers and their henchmen, stenograph
ers and brokers and petty clerks, were thronging
through the streets, but already thousands of curiosity
seekers, and other thousands, impelled by hot hopes of
picking up substantial treasures in the gutters of Wall
and Broad, were momently arriving by electric, by
Subway, and on foot.

For the wildest rumors had already spread, wavelike,
with incredible rapidity all over Manhattan and the
outlying districts.

Reports had already reached a million or more
people that the financial area had been wiped out by
earthquake; that a deep vein of solid gold had been
uncovered in Wall Street by laborers blasting for tele
phone-conduit work ; that a huge force of Blackhanders
had looted the Sub-Treasury, and that, fleeing, they
had been forced to drop their gold; that a sewer-gas
explosion had scattered untold wealth in bullion and
diamonds over half a dozen streets ; that an unknown
billionaire had suddenly gone mad and was showering
gold-pieces by the bushel out of his office windows.

146 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

Some of these canards even got into the columns of
the yellower journals, whose sales went into the
millions of copies. Practically everything was told,
repeated, exaggerated, telephoned, telegraphed,
printed, except the plain truth — that a fifteen-minute
Blight, ending as suddenly as it had begun, had fallen
on all gold coin and objects on the street-level of Wall
and Broad, for a space of three blocks east and south
of their juncture.

Already, by the time Murchison's car reached
Maiden Lane, more than four thousand five hundred
police — regular, special, plain-clothes, and mounted —
had been poured into the district with all the speed
with which riot-calls could bring them.

Cordons were immediately established down Broad
way and Whitehall, through Stone to Hanover Square,
up Pearl and across John to Broadway again, with
positive orders to let no more private persons enter the
district, under any pretext whatsoever. Only a police
permit or proof of official character were to be
recognized.

"Shoot to kill !" the order had been given, in case of
looting.

Yet, in spite of all this, and of six fire companies
added also for possible use in case of conflagration or
to repel mobs by the use of the hose, should need arise ;
in spite of every emergency precaution, it is estimated
that probably one hundred thousand persons, perhaps
one hundred and fifty thousand, succeeded in invading
the proscribed area before the lid, so to speak, had
been clamped down.

The whole lower end of Manhattan was now a roar-

THROUGH THE MAELSTROM 147

ing, howling, fighting maelstrom of humanity. Com
petent observers reported, later, having heard the
tumult as far down the Bay as Staten Island.

The lure of possible gold, of excitement, of wonder
and mystery and adventure-lust worked as a magnet
works on steel-filings. Inside the cordon, the throng
was dense; outside, it was solid.

Murchison soon discovered that there was no possible
exit from the district, which now was held as in a state
of siege. No efforts of the police to disperse the mul
titudes and drive them away, seemed to have the slight
est effect.

Gold! Gold! The obsession quivered through the
very air. Gold! A kind of temporary madness
gripped the people. They fought together, knowing
not why, save that each unit, each striving human be
ing hoped some wondrous treasure might fall to his
hand.

Everybody was trying to get in; nobody wanted to
go out. Before the police began to control the "L"
exit at Hanover Square, fully twenty thousand persons
must have got in by that means. Thousands gained
access to the area through buildings and cellars, mak
ing their way by devious passages. Many made their
way in even over fire-escapes and planks latid across
dizzy chasms. Some crept in through telephone-tun
nels and sewers. Later reports state that more than
a dozen entered by aeroplane, from various outer
points, alighting on the tops of tall office-buildings,
and making their way down the roof-stairs to the hall
ways and elevators.

Innumerable accidents and cases of fainting oc-

148 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

curred. Two hundred or more persons were seriously
crushed or otherwise injured in half an hour; and eight
fatalities are known to have occurred ; yet for the most
part the police ambulances could not get through.

Wine-shops and saloons were raided. Great ex
cesses took place. Hundreds of windows were smashed
in, and loot incalculable was ravished therefrom, es
pecially on Maiden Lane, center of the jewelry trade.
The sum-total of fighting and pocket-picking will
never be known. In a word, Pandemonium burst over
New York, and for a while Hell broke loose.

Under such circumstances, small wonder that Mur-
chison's machine made slow progress.

"Thomas !" shouted the billionaire into the speaking-
tube; for the roaring tumult precluded all possibility
of otherwise making himself heard. "No use trying to
go up Nassau. Better get across Broadway, if you
can. You must find some way out of here !"

"Yes, sir," came the chauffeur's reply, though Mur-
chison could not hear him. He nodded, and the raucous
yell of the siren preceded a slight forward movement
of the machine.

Slowly, inch by inch, more often not moving at all,
then gaming a little through the pack of fighting,
howling men, the huge machine pushed along Maiden
Lane.

Here Murchison got his first actual sight of mob-
violence. Some of the jewelers had already managed
to get up shutters and barricades; but the crashing
of glass and the swirl of looters horrified the billion
aire. He caught disjointed glimpses of battle — here
a policeman striking, there a man pitching headlong;

THROUGH THE MAELSTROM 149

/

again, proprietors with revolvers holding the crowd at
bay while frenzied employees nailed up rough boards
over gaping apertures. He saw blood flowing, too —
then, terrified, cringed back into the car and pulled
the curtains tight.

"Merciful God!" stammered he. "If — if they knew
7 was in this car — !"

Now the limousine had won past Liberty Place, and
Broadway was drawing nearer.

"Go on, Thomas! Go on!" shouted Murchison,
quaking and cowering. His soul weltered with rage
and fear and hate — fear for himself and his own pre
cious skin, rage and hate against Storm, who had let
loose this fearful scourge, and against the shoving,
crushing, fighting, yelling mob.

"Oh, for a Napoleon, here!" thought he. "Oh, for
a battery of Maxims !"

Near Broadway the car was held up again by a
fire-engine which was stationed there, hose all coupled
for emergencies. Here the police ordered the machine
back, saying the only exit was up Nassau again and
across Fulton; but Murchison declared his identity,
and opposition quickly changed to active assistance.

Police and firemen immediately cooperated then to
lay planks, supported by bricks, across the lines of
hose. On these the billionaire's machine rolled out into
Broadway.

He trembled like a leaf, in this emergency, but the
greater fear of going back into that raging tumult
forced him to press onward.

The crowd here got rough handling as a line of
officers with night-sticks battered the wall of humanity

150 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

back, splitting the jam to let the financial master of
the world pass into Cortlandt.

Recognized, as he leaned for a minute or so from
the window to confer with the police, Murchison's pres
ence revivified the excitement.

That wiry gray hair, that hawk-nose and those spec
tacles of his, world-f,amous in uncounted cartoons, had
instantly betrayed him.

Wild stories licked through the crowds, as fire licks
the prairie.

"Murchison! Murchison's here! He's lost all his
money! He's thrown it all out his windows! — He's
turned all the gold in the world to dust! — He's just
cleaned up another billion, damn him! — He's just been
assaulted! — The Blackhanders are after him! — He's
wrecking the city ! — "

Bricks and stones began to fly through the air.
Thomas was struck by a jagged piece of iron, which
deeply gashed his cheek; but, stoic and impassive,
merely cursed with fervor and still stuck to his post,
bleeding yet competent.

Crash! went one of the car windows, then another.
Murchison, ghastly and quivering, crouched on the car
peted floor among the splinters of glass and tried to
pray; but all the words he could lay tongue to were
boiling curses against John Storm.

As the machine ploughed past Trinity Place, with
the police on either hand battering off the clutching
mob, some unknown person fired upon it with a high-
powered rifle from a window of the second story of a
building on the left-hand side of Cortlandt.

The bullet ripped a long splinter from the top of

THROUGH THE MAELSTROM 151

the tonneau, glanced upward, shattered a plate-glass
pane across the street, and fell, spent, into the mob.

This same bullet, picked up and carefully saved,
later brought $500 from a Cohoes curio collector. Its
discharge redoubled the pandemonium. The building
was immediately rushed by the police, and numerous
arrests were made. But Murchison had no stomach for
investigation just then.

"Go on! On!" shouted he to the chauffeur, pale and
livid with a new, deep, personal fear.

For the first time he was beginning to realize the
character of war ; for the first time to understand the
vital difference between coupon-cutting and facing the
chattering rapid-fires or trying conclusions with the
business end of a rifle.

"Let her out, there!" he shouted in the speaking-
tube. "Drive through 'em ! Over 'em! On! On!"

Only when the car, with the aid of the police and
firemen and its own magnificent engine, had forced its
way into the thinning, outer areas of the horde, on
Greenwich Street, did he dare peek out again.

"Thank God," breathed he tremulously, as Thomas
put a little speed to her and began making way north
ward, "thank God, I'm safe, at last!

"What a time — what a frightful, unheard of time!
Why— they— I might have— might actually have been
injured! Even killed! Great Heavens — think of
that!"

No desire now had he to skirt back into the press
again, to verge toward Newspaper Row, to see the
struggling, fighting, roaring masses of people — thou
sands, tens of thousands of them — trampling each other

152 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

for a sight of the bulletin-boards where tired, excited
men were scrawling huge announcements:

UNSOLVED WALL STREET MYSTERY-
GOLD SWEPT AWAY BY UN
KNOWN FORCES!

Prominent Men Lose Large Sums — Many Injured-
Numerous Fatalities — Broker Blaisdell
Stricken With Heart Failure-
Dies of Shock!!

No, all this had ceased to interest the billionaire.
For now his sole desire was just flight — just to get
away, up-town, anywhere, away, away from it all, away
into peace and quiet; away from danger and the strife
and wrack of angry men.

Murchison, in a small way, a very small way, had
had his first experience of what might, perhaps, have
been considered some of the minor aspects of war. To
a very slight, an almost infinitesimal degree, he had had
his first baptism of fire.

He did not fancy it at all.

Death, as an actual possibilty; death, or even some
slight bodily injury, nay, just delay and inconven
ience and the temporary thwarting of his will, by others,
possessed for him no patriotic charms.

And as some measure of strength returned to his
enervated body, anger began to burgeon out again in
his exasperated soul.

Once more he began to think of John Storm, cause

THROUGH THE MAELSTROM 153

of all this hurly-burly, of all this possible peril to
him — to him, Van Home Murchison!

Bitterly Murchison cursed the scientist, beneath his
breath, as the car sped on and on, now through the
almost deserted stretches of upper Hudson Street.

Vengeance came back into his mind, surged back,
more bitter and more hot than ever, ten times more
virulent and keen.

"Thomas !" called he, remembering his campaign.

"Yes, sir?"

"Drive up Tenth Avenue to Twenty-Ninth."

"Yes, sir."

And Thomas, mopping the blood from his face with
his buckskin gauntlet, gave the engine a little wider
throttle.

Faster now and faster sped the car; and Murchison,
absorbed in the delicious contemplation of his plan,
leaned back and forgot the Wall Street riot, his own
heavy losses, and his recent terror.

For now revenge was very near, and he must formu
late the execution of it to the smallest ultimate details.

CHAPTER XIX

A THUG AND A NOBLEMAN

LIKE a man who knows exactly where he is bound,
and how to get there, the billionaire bade Thomas stop
the machine at the designated corner.

Here he got out and gave the chauffeur certain care
ful instructions.

"Go on up-town as far as Seventy-Second," said he,
"then come back to the esplanade in front of the Penn
sylvania depot. If I don't meet you there, make an
other ten-minute run, and return to the same place.
Keep going and coming at intervals of ten minutes till
you pick me up.

"Be sure not to exceed the speed limit or get held up
or run into any trouble. You mustn't let the machine
stand anywhere. Keep moving! Answer no questions
and give out no statement of any kind, if in spite of
these precautions the car is recognized."

"Yes, sir."

"All right — start along. And, say, Thomas."

"Well, sir?"

"Better drop in at the nearest drug-store and get
a bit of plaster on that cut. It's rather ugly. You
can do it in a minute or two. Only, don't take too
long about it. I don't want the car recognized."

"I don't need no plaster, sir. I'll be fine, just as

154

A THUG AND A NOBLEMAN 155

soon as the damned blood dries a bit sir, beggin' your
pardon, sir."

"No, no! Go get yourself fixed up. I wasn't
thinking about that, but you'll attract attention, this
way. Now drive on. And remember, be at the sta
tion, here, at ten-minute intervals, beginning half an
hour from now. That's all!"

As the car started, Murchison turned and walked
briskly east down Twenty-Ninth Street, past the long,
dilapidated fence of the West Side freight-yards —
rather an unusual locality for the richest and most
powerful man in the world to be promenading, lunch-
less and hungry, and every moment increasingly furious,
at 1.30 of a frosty December afternoon.

Already on the tiny news-stand near the corner, as
he turned north into Ninth Avenue, big, black head
lines of the Wall Street panic stared at him.

He only swore hotly, under his breath, and hastened
onward under the clanking, roaring structure of the
"L," which still was pouring masses of eager men south
ward to what they hoped was El Dorado.

The wide-brimmed gray felt hat which — like the
Southerner he was — he always wore, helped his up
turned fur collar to conceal his face. Nobody, he felt
positive, had noticed him. No one suspected, there, the
presence of the man responsible for all the vast turmoil
of that day; the man whom already two-score news
papers, press associations, and syndicates, hundreds of
detectives and reporters, a thousand banking-houses
were straining every nerve to locate.

"Confound them!" and Murchison smiled an ugly
smile of triumph. "Even though they don't suspect

156 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

jet, that I'm actually, though unwillingly, behind this
thing, I know they're after me, just the same. 'Inter
view! Interview!' they're howling. A word from me,
just now, sends things up like a rocket or drops 'em
like a stone. Fortunes are to be had for the picking, or
ruin scorches men and firms by the train-load lots.
But do they get the word? I reckon they don't — not
if I see 'em first!"

Thus cogitating, his thoughts divided between the
tumult he had left behind and the errand that now im
pelled him, he reached his goal, and without hesitation
turned into a doorway not far from the corner of Thir
ty-First. Up the dark stairs he toiled to the third
landing, as though familiar with the way.

"This is my first — and last — personal contact with
these gentlemen here," thought he as he knocked on a
door at the far end of the hall. "I'm sure of that!"

A scraping of chairs in the room at the other side
of the door answered his knock. Then, after a little
silence, a hoarse voice demanded:

"Who's there? What's wanted?"

"Is Mr. Collins in?" asked Murchison.

"No such man here at all."

"Nonsense! Let me in, at once, or you'll be sorry
for it. It's all right — nothing to be afraid of — im
portant business!"

Another pause. Then the voice said :

"What's the weather?"

"Looks like snow," replied Murchison promptly.

A key grated, and the door opened a crack. Mur
chison pushed impatiently against it, but it was held
by a chain.

A THUG AND A NOBLEMAN 157

"Come, come !" exclaimed the billionaire. "I can't be
kept standing here all day ! Let me in !"

The chain clanked slightly. Then the door swung
wide. By the dim light, Murchison beheld a square-
built, red-haired man of Celtic extraction, a man with
a rough and bristling mustache. The curious fact
that his right eyebrow and half his left were brown,
while the other half of the left had for some reason
or other turned pure white, added a disconcerting touch
to his already sinister-enough expression.

"Well, who are you?" demanded the square-built
man. "You're wise to the weather, O.K., but you'd
better come across with your monaker."

"No matter about that, I'm a friend of Mr. Mc-
Shane's," answered the billionaire. "I'd like to talk
with you a few minutes, strictly on business. Are you
at liberty?"

"Ho! Friend of McShane's, are you? Walk right
in, sir ; walk right in. Sure, I didn't know. You'll be
excusing me, sir ? Come right in !"

Murchison entered. The door was closed behind
him, and locked again; and the chain was hooked on.

He stayed a trifle more than thirty-five minutes,
in that dark lair. When he came out, he shook hands
with the square-built man, who was grinning. He
seemed well-pleased, as he took his departure. A few
minutes later Thomas picked him up at the appointed
spot, in front of the huge fa9ade of the Pennsylvania,
where Murchison calculated the hasty come-and-go
would better veil his identity than would the seeming
security of some less public place.

Even at the moment when he stepped into the car,

158 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

a shrill newsboy thrust almost into his face a huge-
typed extra :

MURCHISON SHOT AT BY LOSS-CRAZED
FANATIC!

Reported Seriously Wounded ! ! — Billionaire Vanishes ;
May Be Dead!!!

THREE MORE BROKERS FAIL!

Heavy Runs on Many Banks!! — Sub-Treasury Hoard

Safe, But Wall Street and Entire

Country Shaken!!!

Cursing, the financier slammed the door.

"Home!" commanded he.

Thereafter, for a while, as the motor bears him to
Englewpod — in his elation now unmindful of the still
profoundly agitated condition of the city, the ex
change, the people, and the press — he passes into the
background of our story, along with Wainwright,
Baker, and the rest.

For the strict seclusion in which Murchison hid him
self at Edgecliff was merely passive. And active mat
ters are now pressing forward in this difficult chronicle.

Enter, now, John Storm once more.

How was all this violent social ebullition affecting
him? Where was he, what doing and what planning?
Let us see.

If you could have looked into his laboratory, on
Twenty-sixth Street, after he had launched his fifteen-

A THUG AND A NOBLEMAN 159

minute coup, you might have seen him sitting perfectly
at ease in a big chair, pipe in mouth, observing a com
plex piece of apparatus.

The curtains of the room were close-drawn, and
gloom filled it. All you could distinguish clearly —
for it stood out with striking contrast against the half-
seen jumble of models, machinery, retorts and tools
that covered work-benches, tables and even the floor —
was a diagonal of ground-glass, set into a kind of box
or cabinet, and rather brilliantly illuminated from
within.

Wires led from this to Storm's telephone, thus put
ting it in direct connection with the whole city system.
A switchboard stood beside the apparatus; and as
Storm plugged in on this board with various wires,
images appeared on the ground-glass screen.

First came a confused street-scene, a miniature and
silent mob in wild confusion. Then, as Storm con
sulted his telephone-director}^, chose another location
and changed the plugs, the picture changed to a dense
press crowding about the bulletins in Herald Square.

Again Storm shifted the connections, and again ; and
every time fresh and vivid scenes leaped into being on
the glass — scenes that all convinced him even so slight
a trial as this had shaken civilization to its base.

"If," reflected he, grimly, "if this little touch, this
mere nibble at the edge of things, throws a million or
two of people into spasms, what will a real, a prolonged
demonstration do? Gad! There's no escape from me
now! The Plutocracy — the world of finance and rob
bery, and war and exploitation — the reign of gold — I
hold it all, all, in the hollow of my hand !"

160 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

Still the scientist changed his connections, seeking in
vain for what he wanted.

"Where can lie be?" muttered Storm, drawing hard
at his pipe. "Odd, but I can't find him. I'd give
a good deal to get a line on him, just now, but — !
Damn this visualizer, it's far from perfect, yet! The
best it can do for me is follow the telephone-system!"

He smoked and watched the varying play of the
great panic for an hour or more, nodding with satis
faction from time to time; then, wearied at last, sud
denly snapped a switch.

The vision died. Storm arose, let the shades up
and flooded the room with winter sunshine, revealing
clearly now the vast and complex multiplicity of the
apparatus that filled his den.

For a moment he stood looking out into the street,
pondering his campaign.

"Every day, regularly," thought he, "I'll hit 'em.
Harder and harder, every day! They always know
when and where they can find me. So it just becomes
a problem of endurance. When my load equals their
coefficient of resistance, the factor of safety disappears
and they break. Nothing simpler.

"I give them, at a fair guess, three days to capitu
late. Three; perhaps four. Not longer; because if
they don't yield by then, their lives and the lives of the
rest of their class won't be worth a sheet of my blotting-
paper."

Suddenly his telephone bell rang.

"Hello, hello !" he answered the call.

"You, Storm?" came a voice over the wire.

"Yes! Mr. Murchison? No use trying to inter-

A THUG AND A NOBLEMAN 161

view me now. Nothing doing! You know my hours.
Good-by!"

"Hold on, hold on there, idiot ! See here — you know
that Vuelta Abajo field of mine, in Mindanao? Well,
say, Storm, it's yours, all yours, and I give you a free,
clear, guaranteed title to it, if — "

Storm hung up. But his face had gone a trifle pale.

"Gad !" said he to himself. "It's a good thing I cut
him off. That field — those smokes — the old fox! He
certainly knows where to hit me. But it's no go.
Nothing doing. It's a fight, now, to a finish !"

Considerably agitated, Storm put on his coat and
hat, and went out.

"Enough of this by-proxy observation," said he.
"I'll get a bite to eat, and mix with the crowd. I want
to see it at first-hand. After all, I've got to hear
what thej^'re saying, before I can get an exact line on
the situation."

Slipping on his coat he reached for his hat, which
lay where he had tossed it among the vials and carboys.

"Too bad," he reflected, as he left his den and care
fully locked the door, "too bad about all this violence
and injury and these various fatalities. But the in
nocent bystander always gets it in the neck. In the
righting of a great wrong, some few individuals must
get hurt and even die. I can't free the world from
war and hate, from greed and misery and woe, with
out doing a little damage — as much, perhaps, as would
be done in a single skirmish of a single battle !"

Thus thinking, he sought the streets of the city.

He found the scene already familiar, from his obser
vation of the ground-glass screen. But the ebb and

162 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

flow of the crowds, and the noisy turmoil that still
showed no signs of abating as he pushed along Broad
way, nevertheless interested him keenly.

The streets were full of the interminable extras, and
the crowd was still eagerly buying, reading, discussing.
At the restaurant, where he ate his simple bow] of rice
and milk, with crackers, everybody was poring over
the latest canards ; the whole place was full of the rustle
and crinkle of newspapers.

Utter strangers fraternized in discussing the Blight.
Just that one topic— the Blight! Sports, politics, the
market, the Detwiller-Hawks divorce suit, the Ham-
mett murder case, the Vanderpoel turquoise robbery,
all had dropped out of public interest.
Everything was Blight, Blight, Blight !
The man across the table from Storm, flushed and
excited, tried to engage him in an argument concern
ing it, while the diners to right and left— clerks, stenog
raphers and miscellaneous New Yorkers— hung eag
erly on every word. This man claimed to have wit
nessed, personally, the first attack, in Wall Street.

"I was there, I tell you," he cried dramatically, wav
ing his arms. "I lost a gold stick-pin right in front
of the City Bank ! Look— see that?"

He displayed a pinch of white ash, carefully done up
in a leaf of a note-book.

"That's all I got left, now, of my pin— that, and
one o' the rubies! I was there, I tell you— right on
the spot— my God .'—what's happening here in New
York, I'd like to know?"

Such a dense and pushing crowd immediately gath
ered round the table that the manager had to beat

A THUG AND A NOBLEMAN 163

his way through and order the man to keep still or
leave. The excited one refused to be silenced.

Storm, seeing a fight in the making, got up, leav
ing his meal half-eaten, and shoved his way out into
Fourteenth Street again.

As he shouldered his way into the brawling mass of
humanity, an enterprising hawker shoved a sample of
what was, palpably, cigar-ash, into his very face.

"Only a dollar! One dollar only! Sample o' the
Blight ! Here y'are— Blight ash ! One dollar !"

Storm muttered "faker!" and shoved on; but not
before an eager citizen had bought the fraud. Where
upon the hawker pulled another little paper box of
ash from his pocket and once more set up his barking
cry: "Here y'are, gents — genu-ine Blight ash — only
a dollar — worth ten !"

After an hour or so spent mingling with the tre
mendous Broadway crowd, Storm workepl his way up
to Herald Square, and for a while amused himself
watching the public swallow buncombe, wholesale, from
the bulletin-boards and from the great cloth screens
that had been spread, whereon stereopticons flared
wondrous lies.

Tired of this, at last, he turned homeward, only to
come across a moving-picture show which advertised
the first authentic films of the Blight crush. The
whole street in front of this place was packed to suf
focation. Storm had to make a detour to get south of
it again.

Thankful that his precious radio jector was safely
hidden in his secret den on Fifteenth Street, he re
turned to his laboratory on Twenty-sixth, for another

164 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

session with his visualizer. Again he sought Murchi-
son in it, first at his offices, then at the Englewood
mansion ; but though he got good pictures of the offices,
he found no trace of him there. The Englewood con
nections were poor; he could obtain only blurred and
imperfect results. Murchison was not to be discovered.

It was 9.15 by the time he regained his rooms in
Danton Place.

Thoroughly tired out, he smoked a little, made two
pages of terse entries in his record book, and went
to bed.

Ten minutes later he was sleeping as peacefully as
though no such things as the Blight and the triumvirate
existed, unmindful of the vast social upheaval already
precipitated throughout the city, the nation, and — to
a less degree — the world.

As he lapsed into unconsciousness, the hour was 3.45
A. M., in Berlin, Germany.

There, in a severely plain yet elegant study in his
palace on Behren-Strasse, a man was sitting, deep in
thought.

Over his huge chest his great beard lay as he con
templated a cube of gold which he held in his sinewed
hand. Above his head a single tungsten burned; its
light cast deep shadows across his rugged, powerful
face, wrinkled by thought and harsh with many battles.

"So?" mused the man at length.

He raised his eyes to a great chart of the world that
hung against the wall, at the back of his broad ma
hogany desk.

"Three thousand miles? Donnerwetter! Still it

A THUG AND A NOBLEMAN 165

may be within the bounds of the possible; but there's
the matter of the silver cargo to consider, too. Pos
sible ? Certain ! If I command, it happens !"

A tap-tap-tapping at the study door disturbed him.

"Come."

A valet entered, bowing low.

"Graf Braunschweig," he hesitated, "pardon my
breaking Your Grace's orders and interrupting Your
Grace, but the message is urgent. An envoy from the
chancellor requests your immediate attendance at the
palace. His Imperial Majesty desires to see you at
once."

Braunschweig frowned.

"Convey my respectful regrets to the envoy," he
answered grimly. "But make it clear that it will be
impossible for me to attend. This is the first time I
have ever opposed His Majesty's will; but to-night
greater matters are in the air !"

"But, Your Grace — "

"Silence," roared the count. "Not a word! Now,
listen. Here are three telegrams. One to Glanzer, at
Bucharest ; one to Heinzmann, at my Diisseldorf labora
tories; one to Captain Kurz, on board the Sieger, at
Amsterdam. Have these sent at once !"

"Yes, Your Grace."

"Very well. Any further news from Konig & Brei-
tenbach, in New York?"

"None, Your Grace, since that wireless at 3.32."

"The instant another arrives, rush it to me !"

"I understand, Your Grace."

"Very well. Now go !"

The valet bowed again, and departed. Noiselessly

166 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

ft

the study door closed behind him. Braunschweig once
more took up the cube of gold, a cube 2.54 centimeters
on each edge, and studied it. Then from a drawer of
the great desk he extracted a silver cube and carefully
examined that, too.

A moment he pondered.

At last said he:'

"Six thousand tons of silver ballast should suffice,
for the present. Later, we shall see; we shall see."

He took down the receiver of his house telephone.

"Kramer?" he inquired.

"Yes, Your Grace."

"Notify Holz to prepare all the papers at once. We
leave at 4.15. The motor must be ready at 4, sharp.
And be sure to transmit to me, on the train and on the
Sieger, every word that comes from Heinzmann and
from America."

"Yes, Your Grace."

Braunschweig laid the telephone back on its two hori
zontal supports.

"Now !" he exclaimed. "To work."

Vigorously he began to arrange despatches, papers,
data, and all the material already in hand.

This man, Maximilian Braunschweig, money-overlord
of Europe, had received authentic reports of the Wall
Street Blight, via his own private cables and wireless,
as early as 7 P. M., Berlin time. From that hour he
had been in constant communication with his New
York agents, Konig & Breitenbach, Broadway.

Not one of all the European metropolitan papers
had a quarter of the information that had come to
this colossus of Jewish race and faith, this ardent

A THUG AND A NOBLEMAN 167

Zionist and utterly fearless juggler with the finances
of more than a dozen nations.

First of all the financiers of the Old World, he had
perceived something of the truth. His keen Semitic
brain and all but infallible instinct had told him that
far vaster issues were at stake, infinitely deeper prob
lems and possibilities involved, than outwardly ap
peared.

By 3 A. M., scorning rest or sleep, he had completely
arranged his vast affairs so that they could be man
aged by his staff during an indefinite absence. By 4.05
his motor was whirring him and his secretary from his
Behren-Strasse palace, across the River Spree, to the
Alexander-Platz Bahnhof.

The 4.15 Holland Limited delayed thirty-five seconds
to couple on his private car — seconds that had to be
made up, unfailingly, on the run to Amsterdam.

Already, in obedience to many code-telegrams, banks
in Brussels, Ghent, Antwerp and The Hague, as well
as in Amsterdam, had shipped silver, by special trains,
to Captain Kurzmann of the Graf's quadruple-turbine,
32-knot yacht Sieger. This silver, as fast as it ar
rived, was stowed as ballast; and in the yacht's boilers
already a tremendous head of steam was pent.

Before noon the financier knew he would be well out
of the Zuyder Zee, scudding swiftly southwest toward
the English Channel, on the first lap of a long, straight,
record-shattering run for Sandy Hook.

Meanwhile John Storm slept peacefully as any child.

CHAPTER XX

TRAPPED

STORM was awakened suddenly by a vivid nightmare,
a dream that a steel safe filled with bags of gold had
fallen on his chest, pinning him, crushing him to earth,
without the power of moving hand or foot. All that
saved him from death, it seemed, was the fact that a
thick coating of ashes in some mysterious way softened
the metal of the safe.

With a strangled grunt he tried to turn over — and
found he could not. The dream, his returning con
sciousness discovered, was based on some degree of
truth.

Unreasonably terrified, as men often are when hardly
yet awake, he made a mighty effort to cry out, to sit
up in bed.

To his infinite astonishment he found he could do
neither.

Then he got his eyes wide open, even though his
mouth remained sealed ; and his uncomprehending sight
informed him that the room was dimly lighted.

When he had gone to bed he had, as usual, turned
out all the jets in both his rooms, closed the door from
his study into his bedroom, and opened both windows
in the latter.

Now he found the door was open and the windows

168

TRAPPED 169

shut, the shades pulled down and one gas-jet lighted
near his chiffonier.

Again, still not realizing exactly what it was that
held him, he fought to rise ; to shout. But the futility
of this effort, joined with a sense of pain, made him
desist.

And now, lying for a moment quiet, he perceived that
he was bound to the bed. His mouth was filled with
something soft, yet silencing. He bit against it.

Cloth! A bandage, a gag of some sort!

Again he struggled, with no better success.

Now he realized that strips of cloth had been passed
over him and under the narrow bed, wound and re
wound and lashed in place, his entire length.

He was swathed like a mummy, with no more power
to escape or yell for help than the oldest Ptolemy in the
Metropolitan Museum.

Storm relaxed, and tried to understand.

"Gad!" thought he, "I'm up against it for sure!
What's doing? How can / tell? All I know is I'm
caught. Force won't get me out of this. Whatever's
in the wind for me, my only show is diplomacy and
sharper wits than the other fellow !"

He lay quiet, looking all about the room, taking in
the largest radius that he could possibly command by
straining his eyes in every direction. His head, he dis
covered, had an inch or two of leeway.

And though a strange, nauseated, numb sensation
told him that certainly some narcotic had been used
upon him, yet he fought it off and tried to think, to
understand, to plan.

He had no data to guide him save the already-dis-

170 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

covered facts about the bandages and the gag, the door,
the windows, and the dimly lighted gas-jet.

Seemingly, at first; but as with an extra effort, Storm i
wrenched his head a trifle higher and turned his aching:
eyes far around to the left, he suddenly got a dim,,
vague perception of some unfamiliar object on a chair
at the head of the bed.

His heart gave so mighty a leap that he lay back
faint and weak. But this weakness passed; and now
once more Storm struggled to see what the object
might be.

Try as he might, he could not get it into the direct
line of vision ; but, even despite the dim illumination and
the fact that he had to see with the extreme edge of his
retina, he presently satisfied himself that the thing on
the chair was some sort of a small, black, leather hand
bag or satchel, such as doctors often carry.

"For Heaven's sake, what can be the meaning of
that?" thought he. Closing his eyes, he lay quiet; he
tried to grasp the correlation of the factors involved.
But though he turned the matter logically in his mind,
he got no definite satisfaction.

"To dope and rob a man like me, who hasn't got any
thing at all to steal," he reflected, "certainly isn't worth
the while of skilled crooks such as these seem to be.

"That is, unless in some way or other they know I'm
responsible for the Blight and want to get my secret
out of me, to make millions with. As though," and he
smiled, despite his pain, "as though anybody else on
earth could use it, even if they knew the apparatus from
AtoZ!

"Is this Murchison's work? The old man's no idiot !

TRAPPED 171

He remembers what I told him, that if I'm put out of
the way, the whole system goes to smash at once. He's
wise, Murchison is. He wouldn't wreck the world and
himself along with it, just for the sake of getting square
with me !"

Yet though he tried to convince himself of this logic,
the consciousness still remained that now, in all prob
ability, he lay fast-bound in some devious, far-reaching
tentacle of Murchison's octopus power.

"And if so, what then? Death?" he pondered.

The thought transfixed him with chill forebodings.
Though Storm was brave enough, as bravery is
reckoned, he was no stranger to fear. Personal fear
he had none; fear for his work in life, his ideal, his
hope and plan, was very real to him.

And should he be killed, he well realized the results
to the world at large.

Instead of a progressive, upward-moving, civilizing
force, his Blight — now out of control and working its
blind will wholesale and at random — would in a few
days wreck the world.

Without him to control it, the Blight would spread
at random. Like a runaway locomotive on a down
grade toward a crowded terminal, it must inevitably
hurl catastrophe upon mankind.

His own hand, guiding, checking, releasing, was all
that stood between mankind and the most disastrous
panic in the history of civilized life. At thought of this
Storm groaned.

The world needed him. His death would mean its
utter ruin.

He wanted to live ! He must live ! He could not die

172 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

— yet ! He was young ; he loved life and work and the
joy of fighting the world's battle to the end. Above
all else he wanted to see the triumph of his vast idea, to
behold the working out of his tremendous world-cam
paign.

And as these thoughts came to him, he once more
began to struggle. With sudden fury, like a madman
lashed to an asylum pallet, he moaned, gnashed at his
gag and wrenched at the constraining bandages that
held him prisoner.

Then suddenly he heard a sound that set the goose-
flech prickling all over his body. At the nape of his
neck he felt the hair stirring. The better to listen, he
lay very quiet now, holding his breath, all his percep
tions quickened, sharpened into the one sense of hearing.

Out there in the other room, the study, a faint metal
lic noise was audible.

"A key turning !" thought Storm. "Now— the hall
door's opening. Now somebody's coming in !"

Gently the hall door closed. Again Storm heard the
slight rasp of the key. Then soft-shod footsteps
sounded on the floor, and the gas flared suddenly in
the other room.

A voice, low, quiet, steady, said:

"Now, Danny, to work ! And if you make any more
bulls or forget anything else, I'll fire you. Think I
want to leave a job half done and go staving round for
proper materials this time o' night?"

Storm lay low. The voice, though muffled, was in
disputably Irish. The answer came in similar accents :

"Forget it! No harm done. Sure, it'll be as slick
a piece o9 work as ever was — you'll see !"

TRAPPED 173

Storm's heart began to flail. It almost choked him,
yet he held his breath to listen.

Came then the scratch of a match. Storm heard
the soft, regular puff! puff! puff! of a cigar being
lighted. With hot anger through all his distress, he
realized that an intruder was smoking one of his cigars
— one of his precious Conchas de Samar, the closest
approximation to Mindanaos that old Manuel Barra,
the Porto Rican cigar smuggler, had been able to find
for him. And thoughts of vengeance dawned within
his brain.

"Well, Bill, let's get busy!" said the first voice
presently. Then footsteps approached the door of the
bedchamber.

"Now," thought Storm, "here's where I get it ! It's
coming, now!"

CHAPTER XXI

SUICIDE BY PROXY

STORM'S native wit prompted him to make no outcry,
no motion, no sign of consciousness. Instead, he closed
his eyes, relaxed, and lay inert. For thus, perhaps, he
might overhear some word, some hint, that would give
him a key both to what had happened and to what was
written on the cards of Fate. Between almost closed
lids he watched, breathing slowly, regularly, like an
unconscious man.

Two figures entered the room. One, he saw by the
dim light, reflected from the other room, was small
and spare; the other a tall, square-built man with red
hair — a powerful, ominous-looking fellow.

Storm knew they were peering down at him. He
smelled the smoke of one of his very best cigars ; heard
their breathing; sensed the keen attention they were
concentrating on him.

Then the square-built man spoke.

"Not out of it yet? So much the better! Cinch!
All we've got to do then is fix the letter, give him the
needle and take off the bandage. Then open things
wide — and beat it !"

The other did not answer. Instead he stepped over
to the chiffonier. Suddenly the light grew strong.
Storm knew he had turned on the gas.

174

SUICIDE BY PROXY 175

"Faking!" he heard the little chap sneer. "H e's
awake, all right. See how he's moved the bandages?
Oh, he's no fool !"

Storm heard a step, then felt himself roughly shaken
by the shoulder.

"Come, come, buddy!" ordered the skeptic. "Wake
up, you. No use trying to work the 'possum racket.
We're wise. Come out of it !"

Storm realized the futility of bluff, and opened his
eyes. For a moment, prisoner and invaders stared at
each other, mentally taking stock.

"What does all this mean? What do you want with
me? What do you think you're going to do?" Storm
tried to ask; but the only sound that got past the gag
was a stifled : "Wawawa dada wawawawawa !"

The big fellow laughed. His teeth showed in a
canine rictus. Storm saw that half of one eyebrow
was white.

"Yes, I guess so," said he. "That's all right, mister'.
But I don't exactly get the whole of it. Sure, you
understand yourself, it's a little hard to catch. So
you'll be excusing me, eh?"

"Drop that!" growled the other. "We've got no
time for funny business. It's past three now. In fif
teen minutes we've got to be on our way. Get the
needle, Bill, and don't be all day about it !"

He gestured at the black bag on the chair beside the
bed. Storm vaguely saw, with suddenly alarmed eyes,
that the square-built man was opening the bag. Then
he caught a glimpse of a delicate nickel-plated hypo
dermic syringe in the man's fingers.

"Wawawawawaaaa!" he mumbled hotly.

176 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

Against his bonds he threw his full strength, writh
ing, fighting, straining to be free, until the veins in his
forehead swelled, his face grew purple, and the very bed
stead creaked.

But the two men paid not the slightest heed to him.
They did him not even the honor to seem interested in
his violent exertions.

Instead, the smaller one stepped over to Storm's
wash-stand, drew a half -glass of water from the faucet,
and then dropped into it a couple of tiny tablets, which
he shook into his palm from a slender glass tube.

"Now, while the peter's dissolving," he remarked
casually, "you fix up the farewell note, the last good-by
to this hard and cruel world. You know the wording
already. Don't leave out anything. It's got to be as
pathetic as possible, Danny ; that's what hits the papers
hard.

"I'd do it myself if I was half the scratch-man you
are. Since you forgot the stuff and made me go hunt
ing it at 2.15 A. M., I hate to leave any part of this job
to you; but I've got to, I guess. You certainly have
got the knack with a pen. Go on, get busy !"

The big fellow withdrew into the other room. Storm
heard him opening the desk-drawer, rustling papers,
and drawing up a chair, to write. And once more his
frantic anger surged.

More frenziedly than ever he hurled himself against
his bandages. Dumb-mad, he fought. The little man,
eying him now with a mild interest, sat down by the
bedside and tilted his chair against the wall.

"Come, come, mister," remarked he. "That's no use.
No use at all. It only plays you out. You can't bust

SUICIDE BY PROXY 17T

'em. It took Red-top there and me half an hour to
make you all O. K., while you were lying in sweet dreams
of our own private manufacture. The cloth's strong,
and the knots all strictly scientific. No go. You bet
ter keep still."

He paused, then added thoughtfully :

"Still and quiet. Better save your strength for
praying, if you believe in it!"

Storm desisted from his furious contortions. He felt
sick and dizzy and faint. Cruelly the gag hurt his
lacerated mouth. The blood hummed loudly in his ears.
Gagged and helpless, he stared at the little beast.

What would he not have given for one moment's
chance to yell, one half-minute's free use of even one
hand and arm!

At the mocking, wizened face he glared with fevered
eyes, bloodshot and wild and savage. But to speak
again he did not try.

He lay quiet a moment, trying to think.

Outside, in the street, he heard the purr and honk-
honk-honk! of a passing motor. From Broadway, even,
penetrated the faint clang of an electric. The dull,
somnolent hum of the metropolis, never stilled by night
or day, reached his pulsating ears.

And, like a premonition, in to him was borne the
certainty that when dawn once more should break, red
and sullen, over the eastern sky-line, he, John Storm,
would be past hearing, seeing, thinking, struggling any
more — forever.

A moment the two men looked at each other by the
unsteady light of the gas-flame, which burned low.

Then spoke the intruder — while from the other room

178 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

faintly sounded the scratch of pen on paper. Said he :
"You've got about ten minutes more, Bo. Maybe a
trifle less, according to how your system takes it. At
any rate, not over ten. It's a rotten game two can't
play at. Isn't it fair you take a little Blight your
self?"

He smoked a bit with evident satisfaction.
"Good tobacco, mister," he commented. "If you
don't mind giving us two men a sort of legacy, we'll
borrow a few of these when we leave. But nothing else.
Not one other blessed thing. By which token you'll
know, of course, we're not here to lift your coin, or any
vulgar business such as that. No, it's bigger game
we're on the track of, and mean to get, and have got!
"If you're a praying man, get busy. Pretty soon
you're going to sleep. You'll wake up in whatever
other world there is, or none, according to circum
stances and facts. But before you go, it must give
you some satisfaction to know this is no coarse work,
like a knockout on a street corner or a puff from a
canister in the dark,

"Nix on that ! This is an Al job, first-class in every
respect. Of course, it's anonymous. That's a pity,
too. Danny, in there, and I — we get no credit, no pub
lic recognition. But it's good to know the work's well
done. You're a scientific man, mister ; you understand
how it is. Slick, neat, shipshape every way. Truly
artistic and 0. K. A well-conducted experiment, that's
all. Fine ! You see—"

He was interrupted by the square-built man coming
in with a freshly written sheet in his hand.

"Here we are," remarked he cheerfully. "Here's the

SUICIDE BY PROXY 179

late lamented's last adieu. Farewell, proud world, I'm
goin'home! Faith, it's a corker ! See?"

The little chap took the note from Danny. He read
it with a critical, approving eye.

"It is good, that's a fact," admitted he. "You cer
tainly missed your calling, boy, when you side-stepped
scratch work. It's not too late for you yet to com-
mence — not too late ! The living spit and image of his
writing, so it is. Will it pass in the shuffle? I'm a
preacher if it don't!"

He held the paper out before Storm's eyes, turning
it so the gaslight fell across it.

"Pipe that, will you? Some pretty job, eh?"

Storm, dazed and sick with loathing and despair, read
as in a dream this message — written in so close an imita
tion of his hand that it seemed his very own :

Life, the supreme problem, soluble only by death, the ultimate
reaction. By my own act I die, as I have always lived, seeking
knowledge. JOHN STORM.

"Classy, what ?" remarked the little man. "Literary,
too! Nothing cheap about that! Oh, we may not
look it, mister, but we've got some education. We put
in a lot o' time framing that.

"Put it out there on the table, Danny, and set an
inkstand on it, so it can't get lost or anything. It's
important."

He arose, stretched, dropped the smoked-out cigar
to the matting, and set his heel upon it. Then he took
up the hypodermic-needle again, screwed it together,
and walked over to the glass of solution on the wash-
stand.

180 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

"When you're found here, to-morrow," remarked he
impersonally, "asphyxiated in your own bed, not tied or
anything, but lying nice and peaceful, with that on the
table, you see how fine and dandy everything will go?

"Faith, it'll be one lovely case! The papers will,
maybe, give it half a column, inside page — some of 'em
may even run a cut; though I can't guarantee it, ac
count o' the Blight news being so urgent and the pub
lic mind upset.

"Anyhow, it'll be pretty big for you, considering the
time it's pulled off ! Well, are we ready to be blighted?"

Speaking, he dipped the fine needle-point into the
solution and drew up the ring.

"Now, Watson, the hop yen," he said mockingly.
"Quick, the needle! Will you help me give the in
somnia treatment, please? In the neck. You just
hold his head firm; that's all you got to do, my lad."

The square-built man stepped to the bedside, and with
his tremendous gorilla hands seized Storm's head. Over
to one side he wrenched it, exposing an open space on
the scientist's neck.

Storm howled muffled imprecations, and hurled him
self against his bandages, quite in vain.

Calmly as though he were a doctor soothing a fevered,
pain-racked patient, the wizened man brought the "sub-
cute" against Storm's neck.

Storm felt the man's thumb and finger pinch up the
skin into a tight fold; then came the slight jab of the
needle.

Then, with an exclamation of satisfied accomplish
ment, the little man withdrew his hand.

He squirted a remaining drop of liquid on to the

SUICIDE BY PROXY 181

floor, carefully wiped the needle, and put it again into
its case. The square-built man released Storm's head.
Back he stood, grinning at the victim's vain and furious
efforts to get free.

"Nothing to do now but wait till he goes to by-by,"
said the little fellow contemplatively. "Then off with
the bandages, open everything wide, and dust out!
We got goods on the old man, now, that'll bring us
a million if we work it right. Huh! Only five thou
sand for a job like this? Nix on that ! Guess noil"

"Leave Murchison to me, Bo," the other answered,
as they sauntered into the study. "Blight or no
Blight, he'll come across, now, or — !"

"Pipe! And speaking of pipes, reminds me. Join
me in another cigar, Danny? There's half a box of
fair smokes in the other room."

"Smoke is my middle name," answered the other.

Then, with a final glance at Storm, both men saun
tered leisurely out into the study.

Storm, drugged and bound, heard in his anguish the
click of the telephone-receiver being taken down. A
pause, then:

"Englewood, 660-Q."

Another pause.

"Hello? How's the weather?"

66 99

"Snow is right. It's a cold day when anyone gets
away with anything on us."

66 99

"All fixed, right an' proper. A good job, at that.
So, any time we get the rest of the stuff — "

182 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

"Sure of it! Everything's settled. You'll see it in
the papers, to-morrow night, sure. . . . Yes, sure ! .
All right, any time. . . . Give you the whole story.
. . . Good-bye!"

Storm made one last, furious struggle, all in vain.
Bound and drugged, he heard the striking of matches
and the creak of chairs. He knew the murderers, calm
and collected, were taking their ease while he— he was
dying.

"Don't suppose he's got a drop o' good stuff to lap
up, here, do you?" he heard the little man's voice.
And then, cautiously, drawers and cupboards were
opened, and there came slight sounds of bottles chink
ing as divers vials and flasks were moved on the
shelves where the scientist kept his chemicals and
reagents.

"God ! If they'd only get hold of my wood-alcohol !"
thought Storm. "Or the brandy I had that Haytien
fer-de-lance pickled in !"

But now, already, his thoughts were beginning to
grow vague, uncertain, wild. Over him a strange and
numbing change was beginning to creep.

The drug, he realized, had already begun its sopor
ific, deadly work.

CHAPTER XXII

IS THIS DEATH?

BITTER his* fight was against it; but in its very
nature the battle was a losing one. Will-power, de
termination, grit, and furious rage all alike were pow
erless to combat the oncoming of stupefaction.

In two minutes Storm was dazed and drunk, his
brain reeling, his senses all distorted with the powerful
lethal stuff now pumping through his arteries.

Sick with the realization of death close at hand, he
flung his failing will against the poison— and lost. In
his ears ihe blood hammered loudly ; sweat goutted his
whole body ; his respiration grew shorter, quicker, till
he panted as he lay there writhing.

And his ideas, his apperceptions, began to fade, to
become distorted and absurd. Hallucinations seized
upon him. He seemed to see faces— then a vision of
his precious machine, his radio jector— then swarms of
^wiftly flying, interweaving things.

He beat them back, only to find them pressing ever
thicker, ever more grotesque.

Then a dull, languorous peace began to steal upon
him, a poppied calm, such as the fabled lotus-eaters
must have felt.

He seemed now to be sliding down a long and smooth
incline, eliding in a precipice deep, formless, black.

183

184 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

Before his eyes, which with a mighty effort he still
managed to keep open, a thin gray veil began to float,
to wave, to lower. Thicker it grew and denser, till it
pressed against his face and stifled him.

He struggled then anew, and for a moment pushed
it back; but still it came again, this time more swiftly.
And, blinded now, he seemed to behold with his mind's
eye a vast and swift succession of scenes, too huge, too
rapid for realization, like De Quincy's phantom armies,
opium-born.

Came a period of rest, of half-unconsciousness.
Then the thought: "This is death!" flashed in his
brain.

And once again he fought — fought, as it seemed,
with a hundred, a thousand grinning, dancing, leering
demons who, phantomlike, evaded every blow, turned to
wraiths, mocked him and gibed, the while they struck.

Warmth, comfort, lassitude possessed him finally; a
sense of the futility of life and struggle ; a dreamy peace
and rest.

He lay quite still. For a moment he managed once
more to open his eyes. The ceiling, he perceived, was
gyrating in long, smooth, beautiful curves — wonderful
ellipses, parabolas, volutes, arabesques, constantly
changing, always more and more complex.

"If I could only trace those curves and draw them!"
he vaguely thought.

But now the curves were centering in one spot, di
rectly over his head. Around and round they whirled,
lower and lower; he seemed to lie at the bottom of a
spiraling maelstrom, the point of which was coming
closer, ever closer to his face.

IS THIS DEATH? 185

"When it touches me, I'm gone," he realized; but he
no longer even tried to struggle. For a great peace,
a painless beatitude, were his.

Ebbing, flowing, his consciousness rose and fell in
(slow and rhythmic waves, diminuendo. Only on the
jcrests of these waves now could he grasp anything of
(what had happened, what impended. In the hollows
pe lay inert and blessed, near the Karma, the longed-
for annihilation dreamed of by followers of Buddha.

Nearer, much nearer, spun the giddy vortex of the
whirl above him.

He closed his eyes and waited ; and his soul yearned
for the touch of it.

All at once, far away and resonant with a strange
timbre, he seemed to hear a voice. Then a sensation
of light grew vaguely in his mind.

Spinning above him, he seemed to see a human face;

but it was very small and distant, seemingly at the end

of an infinite vista. In spite of all, however, he seemed

I to know the face — wrinkled and wizened and smiling

down at him.

Faintly he realized that his eyelid had been raised.

"I guess he'll do now," he heard a humming sound.
"See here, Danny? His pupil's dilated to the limit.
The quicker we get these things off him and roll out o*
here, the better. Come on, go to it I"

Though every sense was numb, yet he knew he was
being moved, being unbound. Even while this was
going on, he lapsed from consciousness.

Some faint glimmer returned, after what seemed an
eternity. Free now though he was, he could stir
neither hand nor foot ; not only was power lacking, but

186 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

will also. Had he been able to move, even, he would
have chosen rest. For the peace that now lay on him
enwrapped him in the mantle of Nirvana.

"Straighten up everything, Danny," came a voice.
"That's right — now, the sheets over him, so, All
O. K.? Fine job, I call it.

"Now the keister! Got everything? Careful's the
word — mustn't leave anything lyirg around loose here.
All right. Now the gas, boy. Best dope there is.
All jets — yes, wide open. We're done now. Come on,
boy, come on, let's beat it !"

Fine-stretched as a tiny silver wire, Storm's last
flicker of consciousness perceived the slight hiss-hiss-
Tiiss of unlighted gas escaping.

Even the sickly smell of it reached his nostrils.

But it concerned him not. Nothing mattered.
Nothing, only peace and rest and the long sleep.

As a candle-flame is blown out suddenly by a gust of
wind, so all his last sensation vanished.

The silver wire broke. A soft, enfolding darkness
wrapped him.

"Death!" thought he gratefully, and knew no more.

CHAPTER XXIII

TO WORK AGAIN

SICK, very sick, weak and dazed and trembling, with
a stabbing pain in the forehead, a dull, numb lassitude
shrouding him, John Storm came gradually up, back
again to life, to consciousness.

He lapsed; then, groaning, half revived; then for a
time lay agonized, sensing only pain and utter ex
haustion — an exhaustion so acute that even to breathe,
slowly and at long intervals, was anguish. But
thought, returning, urged him to the task of life.

And, scraping all his scattered forces, as a miser
might claw together some few pence overlooked by
looters, he managed to raise himself on his right elbow
and with bleared eyes blink round.

He was alone, once more. No sign, no sound of the
two criminals. Both had fled.

"God! I still live?" thought he vaguely. «My
room? My bed? I'm here. But — "

Exhausted, he fell back. A little while he lay inert,
waiting for the throb-throb-throb of agony in his head
to abate. He remembered a procedure he often used
when he had sick-headache, and with tremendous effort
got his hand to his throat. Trembling, he pressed
thumb and index on his jugulars. The reduced blood-
ressure in his brain presently afforded some slight re-

187

188 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

lief, and he again opened his dull eyes. His mouth
was dry and bitter. A horrible lassitude enveloped
him; his muscles were mere lifeless tissue, his bones no
stronger than their marrow.

But the will-power in him spurred him on. Dimly, as
in a dream, he saw the pulled-down shades, the gas-
fixture near the chiffonier and — with a wave of recollec
tion — the stop-cock turned full on.

"Gas !" he remembered. "But— I am still alive !"

He sniffed the air. Close and foul and stifling
though it was, it still had not proved fatal. Yet some
gas was present there.

"What the devil?" wondered he, with swimming
senses.

A moment later he again reassembled his strength.

"Fresh air!" he thought. "I must have oxygen, at
once!"

With a huge effort he managed to drag himself to the
edge of the bed. Here he slowly rolled over, with the
calculated result that he fell heavily to the floor, drag
ging half the bedclothes with him.

There for a little while, wrapped like a monster
cocoon, he lay waiting, resting for the next move.

This move was longer. It took him, crawling feebly,
laggingly, some minutes to reach the rear window over
looking the air-shaft — the window nearest his bed.

Two pairs of shoes stood by the window. Storm
reached out a shaking hand and seized a shoe. He
knew his strength would not suffice for him to stand up
and even try to open the window. But the shoe would
solve his problem.

He raised it, and with all his force rammed it against

TO WORK AGAIN 189

the glass of the lower pane. So palsied was his hand
that only at the third nerveless blow did the glass shat
ter. Again and again he struck, enlarging the aper
ture.

Then he fell back, and lay there under the window,
eagerly drinking in the cold, reviving air that poured
through the hole.

The sudden inrush of oxygen was too much for him.
A humming grew in his ears. Everything got black
before his eyes. In a kind of syncope he lay gasping
on the floor.

But presently he revived.

Stronger now, he was able to stagger to his feet by
holding on to one of the brass rods of his bed. Then,
step by step, wavering and uncertain as a baby learning
to walk, he made his way to the gas-fixture and turned
it off.

A thought struck him — the renewal of his first
wonder.

"Why am I alive at all?" said he.

From where he stood he could reach matches in a
little tin affair nailed to the door-jamb. He took one,
weakly struck it, and, in his eagerness risking the
chance of an explosion, turned on the gas again.

Then, with a shaking hand, he applied the flame to
the jet.

Nothing! No result — no flame!

Too astonished for a moment to probe the cause of
this most fortunate failure, he stood there, leaning
against the wall. But the spirit of investigation, his
life instinct, was momently growing stronger in him as
his strength revived.

190 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

And, still pale and sick and trembling, a strange and
haggard figure in his gaily striped paj amas, he tottered
into the study.

"What? Four-thirty? But — I've been doped here
more than twelve hours? And it's now late after
noon?" he exclaimed as he caught sight of the clock.
"And — and noon's past without — great Heavens —
without me at the machine ! What has happened?"

The thought set him shaking again with sheer weak
ness and "nerves." Here certainly was an uncounted-
on contingency. For all he knew the country might
have been swept clean already.

To his aching head he pressed his hand and tried to
think; but, dazed as he still was, he could not possibly
remember just what condition he had left the radio-
jector in. Everything seemed blurred and vague and
far away even now.

"No use," said he, sinking into his big chair a min
ute. "I can't think — yet. I must just try to live."

Here in the study, too, all the windows were tightly
locked and every shade pulled down. He raised his
aching eyes to the gas-jets.

Yes, all the stop-cocks on the chandelier, as well as
on the lights at either side of the mantel, were wide
open. But, though the room smelled rather strongly
of gas, the air was still respirable.

By dint of much grit and effort he tested all these
jets with a match. At all the same result followed.

There was no gas !

"Himmel!" croaked Storm, with a ghastly imitation
of a laugh. "What's the matter, I don't know. All
I'm reasonably sure of is that I'm alive."

TO WORK AGAIN 191

He was strong enough by now to get and put on his
heavy bath-robe and his slippers. This done, he man
aged to open one of the windows looking out on Danton
Place. Then, while the good December air surged
through the room, clearing away the last traces of
poison from the atmosphere, he lay back in his easy
chair, breathed deeply, and let the magic potency of
oxygen bring him back to life and sanity.

Only then did the true answer of his riddle strike his
mind. And, all shaken and unnerved though he still
was, he laughed with something like his usual heartiness.

"Blessed be poverty — and quarter-meters !" he ex
claimed. "I remember now I haven't put a quarter
into that blamed machine for three days! There
couldn't have been fifty cubic feet in it, all told — prob
ably about enough to asphyxiate a baby. But if I'd
been flush and stuffed the slot full of quarters, where
would I be now?

"Ha ! This is Murchison's work, all right enough —
and blamed rough work, too! Clever crooks, eh? To
frame a deal like this — and then pull it off with an
empty gas-meter! Clever; I don't think. Intellect —
oh, yes !"

He laughed weakly.

"The fools ! And they're trying to down me ! Me!"

For a while he sat there, steadily reviving, as he re
flected.

The room grew very cold. He got up and shut the
window, then with some difficulty turned on the steam.

After this he mixed himself a good stiff drink of his
best Gazinet cognac. This braced him to the point
where he could take a hot shower, followed by a cold

192 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

one, a thorough head-soaking under his icy needle-
spray, and a fairly brisk rub-down with a towel rough
as a currycomb.

It was a revivified John Storm who at five-fifteen sat
in robe and slippers, ruefully counting his depleted store
of cigars. Beyond the fading remnants of a headache,
a stiff and sore jaw and a bruised mouth — where the gag
had cut — and a somewhat numb spot on his neck where
the needle had penetrated, he felt no particular ill ef
fects from his manhandling.

"Some escape, all right," said he to himself. "In
genious attack, only parried by chance."

The room was growing dark. Outside a fluffy snow
had begun to fall. A soft gloom, through which the
street lights and the shop-window illuminations glowed
cheerily, had settled over the city.

Storm listened eagerly for some cry of "Hextry!
Hextry, here!" but heard none. Provided anything
had happened regarding the Blight, no newsboy was
deserting Broadway for the comparative quiet of Dan-
ton Place.

"I'll see later; I'll see soon enough," mused Storm.
"What I must do first of all is try to figure this thing;
out from A to Z, and see where I'm at. One false step i
now would wreck everything. And, moreover, I've got
a few people to get square with."

Dark though the room was, he could not bring him
self just yet to hunt for a quarter to feed to the meter
which had saved his life. Instead, he lighted two of his <
mantelpiece candles, and set them, in their pewter sticks,
on the table before him.

At one, he lighted one of his few remaining cigars.

TO WORK AGAIN 193

Then, as he prepared to smoke and ponder, his eye fell
on a slip of paper with his inkstand set carefully
upon it.

"Ah, there it is, sure enough!" said he, with quick
memory and keen interest. "My last and only farewell
to the world, eh?"

Cynically he took it up, and by the wavering light of
his candles, studied it word by word, letter by letter,
stroke by stroke.

"It's certainly one grand bit of forgery," he admitted
with real admiration. "A dandy, or I'm no judge.
Who'd ever think a big, burly son-of-a-gun like that
square-built man — whom, by the way, I intend to meet
again soon — could turn a trick like this ? H-m-m-m !
If I didn't know, hanged if I could hardly tell it from
my own writing! And, being done on my own sta
tionery, with my own pen and ink, right here, it would
certainly have got by any and all investigation. It
would have passed at face value, all right enough. I'd
have been a bona fide suicide, sure as guns !

"See that 'John Storm' there! Isn't that magnifi
cent? Where the devil could they have got specimens
of my writing to copy and to practise from?

"And — 'the ultimate reaction,' " thought he, reading
the words of the forgery. "Where did they ever rake
that combination together? Men like those don't in
vent 'ultimate reaction!' Where the deuce?"

Suddenly he realized the truth. Up he started, with
an oath.

"So then — my own report, to Murchison?" cried he.
"That atmospheric nitrogen report, last Tuesday
night ? It certainly contained those words : 'Nothing

194 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

can be definitely stated until the ultimate reaction has
taken place!'

"And they called Englewood on the 'phone when the
job was finished. They reported! I remember, I re
member now !"

He pressed his head with both strong hands, and tried
to recall the vague, dream-like incidents of his drug-
intoxication, just before consciousness had lapsed.

Dimly, faintly, yet with sufficient clarity to make
itself sure, the impression remained regarding that
Englewood call.

Murchison's guilt was clear. The "ultimate reac
tion" clinched it.

"The infernal villain !" growled Storm, as full realiza
tion brought anger in its train. "The coward, to hire
crooks to chloroform and bind me, dope me, turn on
the gas, and try to make me out a suicide ! The fool
— to dare me to risk what I can do — and will !

"Ingenious, though; I've certainly got to admit
that," he added with a twinge of involuntary admira
tion. "They even figured out they'd have to do the
forgery right here, so as to use my paper, ink, and pern.
Nothing was overlooked — except that gas-meter.
Good old meter! I'll have to buy it and keep it for a
souvenir. Gad! It ought to have a Carnegie medal
for life saving! But never mind about that. There'i
work to do, and scores to settle. Incidentally, think
of the state of mind the old man must be in, out there
at Edgecliff ! He won't dare come around here, or send
around, to find out what's happened. I think he'll hare
his people let this vicinity severely alone. But he'll
get every paper in New York, every edition, and eat

TO WORK AGAIN 196

'em alive — waiting for the suicide news that somehow
doetn't come!

"Well, that's for him to worry OTCT, not me. Here's
where I get busy!"

He arose, and, his cigar clamped tight between kit
teeth, began to pace the floor. As he walked, he
thought. Once he paused to pull down all the shades.

"I want no opera-glass work into this room here,
from any hired place across the street," he muttered.

Looking about the room, again, he sought some clue
of the invaders. He examined door and windows, t»
discover if possible how Murchison's thugs had gaimed
access to his rooms, but learned nothing.

"Evidently no violence has been done here," thought
he. "They must have used a skeleton key, and an un
commonly good one, at that, to have picked that patent
lock of mine. Traces, nil — except a couple of cigar-
stubs which offer no clue. I suppose Sherlock Holme*
could tell me those crooks' names by looking at the
ashes they've dropped on the floor; but that's only ia
books, and this is real life — quite a different proposi
tion. Well, no matter about them, anyhow. Murchi-
son was the principal in this skulduggery. And he's
the man I'm going to settle with, in full !"

With now a gesture, now a half-voiced word, now a
long draw at the cigar, he mapped out the next step in
his world-campaign.

"Gad!" he exclaimed at last triumphantly. "I'ye
got it. When this strikes Murchison — "

CHAPTER XXIV

THE DEN

STORM'S first more was practical in the extreme. He
went quickly out into the hall, and — making sure no-
bodj saw him — dropped a quarter into the slot of the
gas meter.

This would give him plenty of light, as well as gas to
run the little portable stove he sometimes cooked over,
when too busy to leave his work.

"Now if I only had a paper," thought he. "But it
wouldn't do at all for me to risk going to the news
stand on the corner. My whole game now is to avoid
being seen by anybody."

Fortune was kind. By the flicker of the solitary jet
in the hall, he saw the evening journal of his neighbor,
Menard, lying on the floor.

"Justifiable forced sale," he remarked, taking the
paper and leaving a dime in its place.

As he once more locked himself into his room, and
unfolded the paper, huge scare-heads leaped at him —
news, the substance of which already was well known,
by wireless, to Graf Braunschweig on the Sieger, now
well past Calais and through the Straits of Dover on
the race to America.

The tall type screamed :

196

THE DEN 197

MYSTERIOUS PERIL SPREADING— BOSTON
HARD HIT!

Philadelphia Gold Blighted — Albany, Providence,
Hartford in Panic!

Latest Extra. — The unexplained disaster which yesterday
struck Wall Street, has again smitten the country. In a huge
radius centering in New York and sweeping the seaboard from
Massachusetts to Delaware, the Blight of Gold has already worked
incalculable devastation. The wealth of the country is melting
like snow under a July sun. Unless some immediate remedy
is found . . .

"Hm!" grunted Storm, "they'll find a remedy all
right — oh, yes! It's working, all right; working to a
T! Couldn't be finer. Another day or two of this,
and the pirates will be howling for peace at any price.
I've got 'em on the run, already — not a doubt of it!"

He felt vastly relieved that his radio jector had
actually functioned in his absence, and that — on the
other hand — it had not exceeded its planned limit and
"run amuck." His eye kindled with satisfaction as he
glanced hastily down the columns of big print, skimmed
the sub-heads, and here or there picked up a paragraph :

Utterly unexplained, sudden and paralyzing as a lightning-
stroke, the Blight fell over this whole area at exactly 12 M. For
fifteen minutes only it operated, but in that brief time the loss
is estimated —

"Hang the loss! Hang the banks! What do 7
care how many fail? All these details about the panics
in the different cities don't interest me. They're all
alike — same thing, everywhere.

"Main thing is, what's the System doing? Any con-

196 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

eerted action on the part of Murchison and his asso
ciates in the profit-skinning game? Any scientific
commissions of mossbacks appointed to try and solve
a riddle that's the same to them as integral calculus
would be to an idiot?

"Any governmental action? Any official recogni
tion of what's sweeping *the land? Anything really
worth knowing, except that my work is going on just
as I planned and left it to do? Bah, these fools — like
a drove of pigs caught under a gate !

"All this, yellow journalistic bunk and 'human inter
est' and word-painting at a time like this, is sickening —
appalling! What I want and what the world wants —
and must have — is facts!"

Impatiently he scanned the entire paper, but found
no satisfaction.

"One thing's certain," he concluded. "There's not a
word or line about John Storm in print. The old fox
there, is wise enough to keep a tight stopper on his jaw
about me. Alive or dead, nothing gets in concerning
me, via Edgecliff. His game's to play in the dark,
stab in the dark, and trust to luck that somehow he'll
head things off. Well — I'll be letting the light in on
him and his pack of war-loving polecats before very
long!"

To all appearances, the country was going — or had
already quite gone — mad. Storm's general impression
from the paper was an utter, sweeping demoralization,
grotesquely out of proportion with the actual damage
inflicted. Gold is not a necessity of life. It is neither
food, drink nor shelter. Storm was destroying noth
ing of actual human need — no loaf of bread, no beef,

THE DEN 199

no milk, no clothing — nothing but a dull, insensate
jnetal. Yet the world, stupid and unreasoning, had
flung itself into the clutches of a perfectly irrational
panic.

Far beyond the present limits of the Blight, vast
waves and circles of terror, of unreasoning, insensate
fear, were spreading.

The mass, stampeded, was clearly out of hand.

In every city from ocean to ocean, tremendous and
record-breaking runs on banks had taken place or were
•till in progress.

Every depositor seemed determined to get his money
out, at whatever cost. Everybody seemed possessed by
the childish idea — at which Storm smiled — that if only
the actual gold could be hidden ingeniously enough, BO
loss could result.

Small banks and big alike were bowling over like s«
many candle-pins struck by a hurtling box-wood ball.
The paper teemed with cases of personal injury, and
even death, attending the bank runs.

" 'Police and Militia Out in Two-Score Cities,' " read
Storm. "'Mob Fights, Tigerlike, at Gates of—'
Pshaw! No use in wasting time on this rubbish. Al
ways the same story — the big bugs sit tight, while the
little wigglers wiggle, and fight, and die.

"No matter if a few do get killed now. Serves 'em
right for having let a fool system like this last so long ;
a system based on a single metal! Nobody can eat
gold, or burn gold, or do anything with gold except use
it for decoration and dentistry, or make it into round
tilings called coins, with a fictitious value. And yet,
when gold fails — madness ! Death ! The bonehcads !

200 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

"They aren't working-class people, at any rate.
The workers have no gold or bank-deposits to worry
about. No, these mobs of madmen are mostly the mid
dle-class reactionaries, the small tradesmen, petty mer
chants and exploiters, cockroach capitalists and all the
money-grabbing bourgeoisie I have nothing but scorn
and contempt for. Let 'em mob it, if they want to,
and get their thick heads smashed. Mighty good thing
for the world, at that! The radical press has been
trying to educate 'em about economic truths, for dec
ades, and have they been willing to listen? I guess
not ! But one swift wallop from me, where they live —
in their pocket-books — and they wake up quick enough,
never fear. Oh, they're alive now, all right enough, if
they never were before !

"Better a few should perish now, getting rid of the
whole infernal rubbish, sweeping out the dust and cob
webs and making a fresh start all clean and new, than
to keep on this way with panics and wars and all the
rest, and periodic slaughter !"

Once more he glanced at the paper.

Blight! Blight! Blight! Nothing else! The
pages teemed with disjointed and exaggerated accounts
of endless curious ways in which gold had vanished
within the stricken area; with stories of frantic fear
outside; with tales of hasty, insane, idiotic attempts
to head off further inroads.

Canards of a thousand varieties were run as facts, all
obviously gendered in the brains of panic-stricken or
sensation-loving editors and writers.

All these accounts varied and contradicted each
other. One paper declared the Secretary of the Treas-

THE DEN 201

urj was rushing bullion and coin to the blighted cities ;
another stated that he was recalling all the gold pos
sible to the National Treasury, and there sealing the
canvas bags in lead-foil.

One reported a calling of a hasty joint commission
of metallurgists, scientists, and bankers, at Washing
ton ; another denied this, but claimed the President had
issued a special proclamation for a day of prayer.

The news was all distorted, vague, exaggerated —
Storm saw at once it was wholly unreliable. In a mad
world, mad news. Even wild, hot vaporings of war
were beginning to issue from the press. Rumors that
this calamity had been brought on by Japan — one
paper even named the Japanese scientist responsible —
with a view to wrecking the United States and then
invading and overthrowing it, were double-leaded.
The American News had a story, under two-column
heads, telling of 200,000 armed Japanese in Mexico,
already mustering to the attack; and it supplemented
this information by stating that eighteen Japanese
cruisers and dreadnaughts had already sailed from
Kagoshima, accompanied by colliers, and carrying an
air-fleet of one thousand monoplanes capable of drop
ping fifty cordite bombs apiece, to ravage the Pacific
coast. In short, national dementia threatened.

"We must fight! Fight!" already rose the cry.

Fight — yes, but what? Whom? Nobody knew, or
cared, least of all the yellow press, so long as the
spilling of human blood was in prospect, and the boost
ing of circulation. The old, waning, dying blood-lust
of mankind was flaring up again. Struck, man was
burning to strike back — at anything in sight.

202 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

Storra frowned at this news ; but presently he smiled
again.

"War," mused he, "means gold to carry it on. Let
them try to fight — just let them try!"

Above them all. over all, lay the unseen hand of Joha
Storm. His power, at worK even while he had lain
drugged and senseless, had done its resistless work.
Swift, accurate, stinging as a nagaika-lash, it had
struck and annihilated an infinitude of personal adorn
ments, coins, and household plate; but as yet no bank
or government hoards.

"That," said the scientist, "is the next step. If
Murchison won't listen to reason before the supreme
crash comes, then he's responsible, not I. Eh? What's
this?"

A curious item caught his glance:

GILDED DOME STRIPPED!

•

Boston's Famous State House Loses Gold Leaf — The

Hub Stupefied at Loss of World-Renowned

Landmark !

"Rot!" he exclaimed, throwing the paper down.
"What's that to me? Sensationalism, always and
everywhere ! The whole social, economic, and political
structure of the country, of the world, is trembling to
the great change — and the newspapers are printing
rubbish to increase sales.

"Are they discussing economics, urging sanity and
calmness, pointing out that the industries, the mines
and mills, the factories and railroads and ships, the

THE DEN 203

la*d, the farms and forests, the fisheries and all the
natural resources are still intact and just as produc
tive and useful as ever? Hardly! Gold is crumbling
— and they've all gone mad, stark, staring, raving mad !

"And the people — blind, groping idiots — are bewail
ing the loss of a ring or pin or a few coins. A city is
'stupefied' by the destruction of a few hundred square
feet of gold-leaf! What can I do with a world like
this?"

He got up, and for a moment stood there smoking
with great irritation. Then he pitched the cigar-end
into the grate.

"I'll save you yet, you stupid, blundering, bat-eyed,
doddering old world," said he. "Save you, in spite of
yourself — for, after all, you're a good world. You're
all the world I know — and I love you !"

Briskly now he turned to the active carrying-out of
his further plans.

The time was 6.15. Storm had eaten nothing for
almost twenty-four hours. He realized that the first
thing to do was to "stoke up," as he called it.

So he boiled himself a couple of eggs and made some
coffee on the little gas-stove, and cut two slices from a
scandalously dry loaf which had long lain in a paste
board box, a prey to mice, on top of the bookcase.

These delicacies consumed, the while he pondered,
using his work-table as a festal board, he washed his
dishes and methodically replaced them.

"Nice tableau this is, what?" he grimly smiled.
"Master of all the world's gold, whether on top of
domes, in banks, or government vaults, or deep in the
furthest drift of the Rand mines, yet I scrub a plate

2<M. THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

of tin and rinse a rusty coffee-pot. No matter, it's
all in the cause of science and the world."

He put the room in order, spread up his bed, and
removed all traces that anything untoward had hap
pened there.

Quickly, yet methodically, he packed his hand-bag
with a few necessaries, including his precious note-book.
The forgery he carefully put away in his bill-fold.

Three minutes later, having turned out all the lights
and locked the door, he said good-by to his room for an
indefinite time.

Cautiously he descended the stairs, still a bit weak,
but almost himself again. Without meeting anybody,
he reached the street door. Here he paused for a care
ful look up and down Danton Place, then muffled his
face and tramped away quickly toward Fifteenth Street.

"It's the den for mine now — till the end of the fight,"
thought he, as, hunching his big ulster collar still higher
till it almost met his roomy slouch cap, he hastened on.

The thick-falling snow helped blur his personality.
Such few pedestrians as he met passed likewise pro
tected without a glance. Over on Broadway resounded
some kind or other of turmoil — he neither knew nor
cared what it might be; but this side street was almost
abandoned.

Storm felt certain no one was heeding him as he
made his way toward his goal.

This den of his, which he had already prepared about
three weeks before in anticipation of a time of need,
was a single room, windowless save for a skylight, on
Fifteenth, near Third Avenue.

Under the name of Benton he had hired it from an

THE DEN 205

excellent Italian family occupying the house. These
Italians, very well-to-do, lived in the upper part ; in the
basement and first floor they ran a well-patronized res
taurant, much frequented by writers, artists and vari
ous Bohemians.

The very publicity of the place, its busy life and
happy-go-lucky character, exactly suited Storm's pur
pose.

Here he could do about as he pleased without ques
tion, provided he paid his rent promptly. By the use
of only very moderate ingenuity he could pass as a
crack-brained musician, photographer, or what-not.
Nobody would bother about him.

"Mighty fine thing I've got a place like this to duck
into," he told himself, as he tramped up the steps and
fumbled at the latch with his key. "I don't need any
risit to my laboratory on Twenty-sixth to assure me it's
been ransacked clean before now, and every blessed
piece of apparatus there sifted full of emery-powder or
broken or carted off. If it weren't for my den now
I'd be right up against it hard. Thank heaven my
radio jector is safe here!"

In the hallway he met Angelica, the plump, olive-
cheeked and sloe-eyed daughter of the house. The hall
was redolent of a good dinner in progress; from the
inner rooms sounded a cheerful clink of steel knives and
forks, a somewhat poly glottic chatter of voices and
hearty laughter.

"Buona sera," he gave back Angelica's greeting in
Italian. "Some snow, eh? Lots of business to-night?
No," in answer to her question, "I've had my chow al
ready. Supper. Capite? I won't be down."

206 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

She flashed a white-toothed smile at him — for tke
big, erratic American already pleased her well. Then
Storm, with no further parley, climbed to the topmost
floor, up to his stronghold under the eaves.

As he switched on the incandescent he glanced witk
satisfaction at his emergency accommodations. A cot,
bureau, wash-stand and book-loaded table of plain pine
sufficed for him. On the left-hand wall hung a verj
large, linen-mounted Mercator's projection of the
world; the entire land area was laid off in accurately
drawn hexagons, traced with India ink by a very fine
pen. Each division bore a number in red. Circles of
various sizes in green also covered the map. AH these
circles were concentric, with New York as their cominem
center.

Beyond these things there was little to note, except a
newly-installed telephone that stood on the bureau;
and, against the further wall, what seemed an ordinary
trunk of medium dimensions.

It was at this trunk that John Storm looked with
eager and affectionate eyes, as he took off his cap, coat
and gloves, and with characteristic disorder threw
them all on the cot.

"Ah, my beauty, still safe and sound, eh?" he ei-
claimed. Over to the trunk he walked, and fondly
patted it as though it had been sentient.

"They'll never find you here, that's certain. The
fools, to tackle me personalty, and try to put me out of
business ! Fools, to raid the lab., as I know well enough
they've done!

"Gad! While you're intact, this thing goes on and
on and on, whatever happens to John Storm; and you

THE DEN 207

*,rc intact and going to stay so, too. That's a thou-
•and-to-one shot, every time!"

He picked up his corn-cob from the tin biscuit-box
coyer that served him as an ash-tray; filled it with the
fine and complex blend of his own making, which he
always smoked; and, striking a match, again eyed the
trunk.

"How can they find you, my beauty," queried he,
"when they don't know even where / am ? Oh, a cinch !
Too easy, eh? Robbing a cripple is herculean beside
it!"

He sat down in his single wooden chair, tilted back
en its hind legs and, drawing deeply at his pipe, once
more surveyed the trunk with eminent satisfaction.

His pleasure in that sight and in the taste of the
famous blend might have been lessened had he known
that a man who had been watching from a doorway op
posite 75A Danton Place, had followed him at a safe
distance all the way to Fifteenth Street, and now at
that very moment was supping on macaroni and cheese,
fried smelts and red wine, in the basement far below.

The man, swarthy, quick-eyed and eminently polite,
had already made at least the preliminary step of get
ting acquainted with Angelica.

But of all this John Storm — happily for his peace of
mind — suspected nothing.

CHAPTER XXV

THE LAST DEMAND

AT this same hour, an angry and fear-struck confer
ence was going forward at Edgecliff.

When the second day's Blight had, promptly at
11.45, smashed into the tremendous area from Boston
to Philadelphia, Wainwright's rage and consternation
had known no bounds. Of violent temper and overfull
habit of body, he had just missed apoplexy.

A physician, rushed to his office on Broad Street on a
hurry call, barely pulled him through by copious blood
letting. Then he took Wainwright home to the vast
marble congeries of clashing architectural styles which
the copper czar had built on Fifth Avenue.

And thither, despite all the specialist's positive in
junctions regarding at least twenty-four hours' abso
lute rest in bed, Wainwright — at the first possible mo
ment of release from the physician's watchful eye — sum
moned Baker, third member of the triumvirate.

The conversation of these two men was short and to
the point.

"It's ripping into us again, this hellish plague is!"
roared Wainwright. "Inferno's loose. If this keeps
up a week, I'm broke. So are you. So's everybody ! The
whole damned business goes to smash, and we with it!

"Now see here, Baker. This is no time now for
208

THE LAST DEMAND 209

fine hair-splitting or oaths of secrecy or anything but
action. Did you get the marked ballot? And if so,
how about it? Is the crimson idiot dead yet?"

"/ don't know ! I drew a blank."

"Same here!"

"So then Murchison's the man?"

"He is — damn him!"

Wainwright jerked the telephone toward him.

"660-Q, Englewood!"

A pause. Baker paced the floor nervously.

"Not at his office, is he?" asked the Secretary of
War.

"Office, nothing! Think he'd dare go down to Wall
Street, now?

"This Murchison? Yes? Murchison there? What?
Not back till six? See here, you tell him Baker and
Wainwright are coming out. We've got to see him.
Six sharp ! Good-by !"

At six-fifteen the three men were in conclave in the
billionaire's library — the same great room where, so
short a time before, John Storm had first demonstrated
his stupendous power. But this time the door was
carefully shut, with Jinyo on guard, outside, lest any
ear should listen.

Murchison had altered greatly. He was already
worn down fine; his eyes, as they wandered round the
vast apartment or fixed themselves on his associates*
faces, glowered hollow and anxious from behind the
gilver-bowed spectacles that bestrode the hawk-bill
nose; his hue was sallow and sodden, his mustache
bristled raggedly, with much pulling, and his hand
shook as it held the Mindanao whereof now the savor

210 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

and bouquet had all departed. Wainwright, pale with
loss of blood as well as with consuming anger, seemed
to have grown flabby. He sat there glaring at the rich
est man in the world, who nervously sought to return
his look. Baker was agitated and blinking.

"You," said Wainwright, sans ceremonie, glaring at
the billionaire who could not meet the look, "you are
a Hell of a success as an executioner, aren't you?
Oh, yes, a bull's-eye on the target of go-get-it! Some
pippin, I don't think, when it comes to carrying out
a job, what? This thing was left in your hands,
and—"

"Now, now, see here! I — "

"Can that ! Cut it, and listen ! It was left for you
to do. You could take care of it, all right! You
could put this lunatic beneath the daisies! Oh, yes!
As a result — "

"Well, how d'you know I haven't made good?"
blurted the financier, flushing.

"How do I know? What? You ask me how I
know, when this very day — ?"

"Didn't he tell us himself, no matter what happened
to him, the Blight would go on working just the same?
Didn't I advise all along that we'd better treat with
him and humor him until we found out what the secret
really was, what his apparatus consisted of, and where
he kept it — then close in on that? Didn't I? And
you opposed it? Baker here knows I did !"

Quivering with rage and excitement, he appealed to
the Secretary of War. ,

"That's certainly true, Wainwright," admitted the
Secretary of War, while the copper czar fairly boiled.

THE LAST DEMAND 211

I

Murchison nodding vigorously, thumped his fist OM
the green-stone table.

"You wouldn't have it so !" cried he.

Wainwright thought a second.

"Is he dead?" blurted he. "If so, I guarantee we
can put a quietus on the rest of it. I've set things in
motion to fix his workshop so that won't bother us anj
more ! But the man, the blazing, scarlet, howling fiend
— is he dead?"

"I have every reason to believe he is."

"Oh, you have, have you ? Reason to believe ! You
take a job of cardinal importance, the most important
job in the world, and then — have reason to believe!
You are one corker — not !"

Murchison drummed nervously on his chair-arm witk
tremulous fingers, but found no answer.

"Have you seen the carcass, the remains, the stiff,
the cadaver?" demanded Wainwright.

"Why— er— no."

"Why not?"

"Now see here, Andy, I couldn't mix up with this
thing, personally. I put it into the hands of two of
the most expert private detectives in New York. Old,
experienced — hm — "

"Murderers! Say it, can't you?"

"This was to be no slugging job, Andy," continued
the billionaire, lowering his voice and glancing uneasily
about him. "No crude, sanguinary piece of work,
leaving obvious traces of assassination. Instead, it
was planned as a suicide."

"What?"

"A suicide, I tell you. These men were to enter

212 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

Storm's room, chloroform him and bind him, them write
a note purporting to be by him — one of them is a most
expert forger, most expert indeed — "

"The guy you used in that K & B bond matter?"

Murchison nodded.

"Well, what next?" demanded Wainwright.

"Then they were to drug him, remove the bandages,
leave everything in a normal state in his room, turn
on all the gas-jets, and decamp."

Wainwright grunted with satisfaction, squinting the
while from fat-lidded eyes. Then he nodded.

"Damned good!" he ejaculated, thumping the table.
"I congratulate you, Henry. Didn't think you had it
in you to frame such a deal. All right, so far. But
what then? Did it go through?"

"It did. They telephoned me, from Storm's room,
that the — er — the job was completed, and — "

"You trust them?"

"Absolutely! Faithful fellows, both. Once their
word's given — "

"I know. But, the body? Have you had any
proofs in that way? Has anyone seen it? Have the
papers mentioned it? I've read 'em all, and not a
line—"

"I know; but naturally you couldn't expect me to
risk too much, by starting any inquiry. It can be
done, though, very easily. Quite so. This very night
we can assure ourselves — "

A sudden sharp ringing of the telephone-bell inter
rupted him.

"Hello, hello !" replied Murchison, pulling the instru
ment toward him on the table. "Telegraph-office call-

THE LAST DEMAND 213

ing, you say? All right, yes, this is Mr. Murchison
talking now. Eh? Wireless, in code? Go ahead,
let's have it."

He added to Baker:

"Take this down, will you? I'll give it to you as it
comes."

The secretary drew out his fountain pen and across
the back cover of a Brazilian consular report which
lay on the polished table-top, transcribed the message:

Intent level omicron velum energy loam unequal cam indirect
lunar leave empire white intent tram health abbott large lien
mental yea hour effect art respite travail. BRAUNSCHWEIG.

At sound of the name, Murchison started and grew
pale.

"What?" cried he. "He?"

"Who?" exclaimed Baker. "You mean Storm?"

"No, no ! Braunschweig !"

"Graf—?"

"Of course!"

"Maximilian Braunschweig !"

Wainwright flung out an oath. The three men,
struck with annihilating astonishment, stared blankly
at each other.

The traditional devil loves holy water, by comparison
with the hate wherein these three bore the stupendous
personality of the great Jewish financier. And for a
moment no word was spoken.

Then Murchison flung the receiver on to the hook
with a bang.

"What in Hell does he want?" snarled Wainwright.
"What the devil?"

214 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

Murchison made no answer, but very grimly seized
the consular report and stared at it.

Then he adjusted his glasses on his thin nose-bridge.
"It's in the L. G. code," said he.
"Go on, read it!" blurted the secretary eagerly.
For the moment, John Storm had been completely
swept from the thoughts of the Triumvirate.

Murchison jerked open the table drawer, rummaged
for a moment and brought out the small, leather-bound
book containing all the codes he used.

"Let's see now, let's see — the L. G. !" said he in a
shaken voice he tried in vain to render steady.
The others watched him in grim silence.
"What is it?" ejaculated the secretary. "Quick!
What's up?"

"Freely rendered, here's the idea." He paused a
little as though marshaling his thoughts.

"Go on, go on, can't you?" urged Wainwright.
"Braunschweig evidently knows what's happening!"
"He ought to; with his private cables and wireless.
But — come on, let's have it !"
"He says, in effect :

"If you know the person causing gold-destruction, do not
oppose or impede him in that work. I hope to cooperate with
you. Incalculable profits possible. Shall be in New York in
four and a half days. -BRAUNSCHWEIG/'

For a moment silence. Then Wainwright roared:
"The devil you say! What's Tie butting in for?
Haven't we got trouble enough of our own without any
more, 'made in Germany'? He'd better keep off our
grass, that's all I've got to offer !

THE LAST DEMAND 215

"He's coming, is he? Going to help us, is he?
Some nerve! But — nothing doing, Dutch! Outside,
for his! Say—!"

Murchison looked up quickly. He was calmer now.

Some new and big idea had suddenly taken posses
sion of him. A certain crafty glitter in his brighten
ing eye boded no good to whomso would oppose him.
But he spoke in even, natural tones.

"This is certainly a new complication," said he. "I
reckon a lot depends on just how we meet it. Evidently
he scents a kill, or he'd never start for the States, like
this. Question is, if there is a kill in prospect, are we
smart enough to find it out for ourselves, and get it;
or have we got to wait for a German to walk in here
and retrieve it out from under our very noses?"

Wainwright growled, deep in that gross throat of
his. The billionaire continued:

"All this about cooperation with me is so much rub
bish. I know Braunschweig ! He cooperates with no
body ! If he does, the other party's rake-off is always
minus zero. We've got to think this thing over.
I've had dealings with the Graf. So have you, Andy.
You, Baker, remember that matter of the 1904 issue of
3's? That was cooperation for you, with a vengeance.
Cooperation — yes indeed! There's time yet, if we hit
it right, to head him off and win out, all round. If he
gets a Hhank you,' I reckon that'll be enough for him !"

"A 'thank you'?" inquired Baker. "What for?"

"For the tip, of course."

"You don't mean," retorted Baker, "you're going to
pay any attention to that? And let this howling, gib
bering maniac wreck the whole of our organized society)

216 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

And trust to luck to snatch a few scraps of his leav
ings?"

"After the way Murchison has handled the case so
far," growled Wainwright, "I certainly don't credit him
with any more sense than to do just that!"
The billionaire flushed, but held his temper.
"Gentlemen," said he, "there's nothing gained by in
dulging in personalities at a time like this. We're
dealing with a tremendously vital, serious, dangerous set
of problems. We must all hang together, as what's-
his-name said, you know, or I'm damned-if I don't think
we stand a mighty good chance of all hanging sep
arately !

"The public at large isn't going to put up with this
very much longer. You know what's going on already
— mobs, militia, bank-wrecks, and all. Baker, here, has
been summoned back to Washington. That means
army's got to be overhauled and put in shape for pos
sible contingencies, doesn't it, Baker?"

"State secret, Murchison, but I don't mind saying it
does."

And Baker rubbed his hands together like a merchant
touting wares.

"If it comes to the lead cure for the gold panic —
we're on the job, that's all."
Murchison smiled faintly.

"Yes, yes, of course," assented he. "But you can't
always count on the army, either. We all remember
several historic crises where, somehow or other, things
didn't work as expected and the guns turned round the
other way.

"Now I, for one, don't hanker to stand at the busi-

THE LAST DEMAND 217

ness end of a gun, or at either end, for that matter.
Storm was right, so far — we fellows don't love the fir
ing-line. No, nor the lamp-post and the hemp, either;
nor yet the guillotine. You know the public temper the
last few years ; things have been drifting a bit. This,
on top of everything, might just possibly touch off the
bonfire. The fools lay everything that happens to us.
And if this goes too far — "

"The qualified Dutchman had better keep out of our
private preserves, that's all I've got to say !" inter
rupted Wainwright angrily. "Our crowd has managed
this country long enough to know the ropes. I guess
if it comes to that little 'whiff of grape' to clear the
atmosphere. Baker, here, can deliver the goods all
right!"

"We mustn't act hastily, in any event," urged Mur-
chison. "We've got to think this out, and think
straight. There's lots of time. He can't get here, at
the inside, sooner than Monday afternoon. We've got
leeway to plan for his reception. If we work it right,
we can not only head off the Graf, but possibly also
get hold of his scheme and turn his own guns on him."

Wainwright nodded vigorous approval, as he ex
claimed :

"It's our job, anyhow. Storm is our job, and his
infernal radium stunt or whatever it is — all ours. The
country's ours! We'll manage it — no Heiny need
apply ! Even if Storm isn't dead — and I'd give a mil
lion, this minute, to see his head lying right there 011
that table! — we can handle both him and the Dutch
man. This message is nothing but a stall — a clear case
of bluff. The Graf would like nothing better than to

218 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

have you keep hands off this lunatic and let him wreck
America, so he could gulp the pieces. What! You
stand for any such a steer as that?"

He slapped his knee with a big, well-groomed hand,
and set his jaw at an ugly angle. Murchison consid
ered before he answered.

"Yes," said he at last, "but if Braunschweig under
stands things better than we do, and if he sees a way
for us to clean up — "

"If your grandmother !" roared Wainwright. "For
get that, can't you? The main thing just now is where
is Storm? And where's his machine? And how blue-
blanked quick can we put 'em both out of commission?

"Any temporizing, now, is sheer insanity, Murchison.
If Braunschweig butts in, that means war to the knife.
Don't be an ass, on top of being a confounded hypo
crite, and — "

Murchison, stung to the quick, at last, was about to
retort hotly when a sharp rapping at the door inter
rupted him.

"Who is it?" called he.

"Jinyo, sar," answered a voice. "Message for you."

For a moment the triumvirate kept silence. Instinct
seemed to warn them some vital thing was forward.
Then the billionaire cried :

"All right— let's have it !"

Jinyo brought in the letter, salaamed, and retired.

Murchison peered curiously at the writing on the
envelope.

In an ordinary clerical hand, it told him nothing.

"Go on, open it!" exclaimed Wainwright, brutally.

So nervous was the billionaire that, in ripping the

THE LAST DEMAND 219

cad off the envelope, he tore the fold of the letter within.
The sheet came out, raggedly divided into two pieces.

With an oath he spread them on the table-top and
fitted them together.

The three men, crowding close beneath the opalescent
light, read, by leaps and bounds :

YORK (address not important),

To-day.
VAIT HOHNE Muacmsoar, Esq.,

Englewood, New Jersey.
DBAS SIR:

Here's a new proposition. Since the original one has not been
satisfactorily acted upon, I make another.

Unless you comply with my demands before to-morrow at 11:45,
I shall execute a coup of tremendously more importance and
vastly larger scope. It will involve not only America, but part
of Europe as well. On your own head be the consequences!

On the fifth day derelopments will take place which you
cannot, at this time, even imagine. The results to you, botk
financially and personally, cannot fail to be disastrous.

Again I warn you not to attempt to interfere with me or with
my apparatus. In the first place, you will fail again, as before;
in the second, you will only hasten disaster to yourself and to the
capitalist class.

At any time, the process of disintegration can be stopped by
surrender. The signal that you have given in will be a large
white flag, to be flown from the top of the Metropolitan Tower.
No other will be heeded or accepted.

You now have all the essential facts. You know my demands.
You can possibly foresee the results of not yielding.

The sooner the flag flies, the better for you, for the nation,
and for the world at large.

Your move! THE BLIGHT.

CHAPTER XXVI

NOT ten minutes after the reading of this amazing
letter, and while the three men in the library, in their
own ways, were still reacting from the shock of it, the
telephone rang again.

Over the wire came a voice demanding speech with
Murchison. When the billionaire inquired this stran
ger's business, warning him that no reporter could pass
the guarded gates of Edgecliff, the unseen one whis
pered a few words that brought Murchison up all stand
ing, as the phrase is.

"You mean that?" questioned the billionaire, with
terrible eagerness? You know?"

"I do, and can prove it. Will you give me a few
minutes of your time?" came the question.

"Where are you?"

"Never mind. Say the word, and I'll be with you
in fifteen minutes."

"Then come, at once! Say 'urgent' to the lodge-
keeper."

"I'm on ! Good-bye !"

Murchison called the lodge-keeper, on the private
line that covered the house and grounds, and bade
him let a man pass, soon to arrive, with "urgent" for
a countersign. And then followed anxious moments, in

220

STORM'S RADIOJECTOR, 221

the library; and conversation lagged. But Storm's
letter passed from hand to hand for many a re-reading ;
and if a hundredth of the curses heaped on its author
could have taken effect, the scientist would have gone
to the Bottomless Pit with no delay.

"Urgent" arrived in the library exactly twelve and
one-quarter minutes after his call over the wire. He
proved to be a swarthy, short, active man, with some
kind of foreign accent and penetrant eyes. Well at
ease, he sat down without being invited, and reached for
a cigar, which he lighted with aplomb.

"Who are you, and what do you know?" demanded
Murchison, abruptly.

"My name don't matter," the new-comer answered.
"I'm an independent operator, a free-lance in the detec
tive world. I know you're after John Storm — "

"How did you find out?"

"It's my business to find out things."

"And you know where he is, now?"

"I do. After your two men failed — "

"You know about that, too?" exclaimed the billion
aire.

"I followed Storm," the other continued, taking no
notice of the interruption. "I know where he is, at
this moment. I have a room in the same house. His
apparatus is there. He's working in that place. No
body but me knows anything about it. I can turn the
trick for you. How much?"

Wainwright, smiling with satisfaction, met the new
comer more than half way.

"Listen," said he. "I don't care where he is, and
won't ask you, because you wouldn't tell, an;,rhow.

222 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

That's jour rake-off, that knowledge is. You nail
him, and do it right, kill him and break up his ma
chinery, and present proofs to me, personally, and I'll
give you five thousand in cash — no checks, the real
stuff."

The other laughed drily.

"A hundred thousand is my bottom figure," he an
swered. "Not that the job's hard. But it's worth
ten times that to you — yes, a thousand times. No
body can do it but me. A hundred thousand! Get
me?"

Silence, a moment.

"God ! You're gouging deep !" muttered the copper
czar.

"Yes, and you're going to come across, too," re
torted the other, inhaling a lungful of heavy smoke.
"One hundred thousand. That, or nothing!"

"But — " Murchison began.

"Can it !" exclaimed Wainwright. "I accept."

"Then have the stuff on tap, to-morrow noon, at your
office," said the other. "Storm and his apparatus will
both be dead ones, by morning."

"And then? You trust me to pay?" asked Wain
wright. "You have confidence in me, with no writing
to show?"

The stranger laughed disagreeably.

"Not a damn bit of it !" he retorted. "But after the
job's done, you'll come across, all right. You won't
snitch, and you'll pay. Why? I know too much,
every way. So I take your word. Now that it's
given, I don't need to stick around any longer. I've
got a job to do. You'll see me at noon, to-morrow."

STORM'S RADIOJECTOR 223

He picked up his hat, nodded easily to the three,
turned on his heel and left the library.

At eleven o'clock of that same night — while in the
library at Edgecliff excited controversy was still go
ing on between Murchison and the copper czar, after
Baker had left to catch the "Owl" to Washington —
John Storm in his well-hidden little attic den was pre
paring for the next step in his war against war.

The scientist was fresh and fit again, by now, hav
ing wholly recovered from the effects of the murderous
attempt upon him.

Having thrown consternation into Murchison's camp,
via the telephone, he was now calmly making ready to
overhaul his radio jector for to-morrow's work. Al
though it would have functioned even without him, yet
;he billionaire's attack had greatly changed his plans.
And now he purposed striking a far harder blow than
ic had otherwise intended.

He lighted one of his few remaining cigars, then took
rrom his pocket a key-ring, chose one certain key, and
approached the trunk which stood against the wall.

More than a week before his first demonstration on
Murchison's double-eagles at Englewood, he had had
:his trunk sent to the den. Outwardly exhibiting no
peculiarities, it none the less constituted the very heart,
the crux of the entire Blight.

Its lock, apparently simple, was in reality a complex
combination, made of tool-steel by Storm himself after
lis own designs.

Under the wooden strips and canvas cover of the
,runk lay thin, laminated plates of chrome steel; the

224 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

trunk was really a light but excessively powerful safe,
masked with appearances of nimsiness.

"Even old Max Shinburn himself, king of cracksmen,
would have an interesting hour or two trying to 'crush'
this!" smiled Storm as he inserted the key that let fall
a plate exposing the combination lock.

This he deftly manipulated. In less than half a min
ute the trunk was open and the cover raised.

Inside appeared a curious mechanism. At the left a
powerful series of storage batteries, very compact and
potent — also designed lay Storm — occupied about one-
quarter of the space. Induction coils and certain other
apparatus which only Storm himself could have named,
and of which certainly no plans ever had been registered
in the Patent Office, came next.

At the right a large, flat, hard-rubber plate was
pierced by serried rows on rows of binding-posts — or,
rather, hollow copper pegs. Of these there were six
hundred and eighty-one.

On the inside of the trunk lid itself, another Merca-
tor projection was fastened, pierced also by a host of
copper pegs. From such of these as formed a circle
around the point indicating New York — a circle with
its circumference approximately cutting Boston, Al
bany, Harrisburg and Baltimore — fine, green-insulated
wires extended to a similar circle on the hard-rubber
plate below.

"I guess I'll widen the field of operations enough this
time to show 'em I'm in earnest," said Storm to him
self, as he drew up his chair and sat down before the
radio jector.

Then, like a man who knows his job from A to Z, he

STORM'S EADIOJECTOR 225

began breaking the connections and plugging them in
on a vastly larger scale.

Suddenly he paused. Outside his door, it seemed to
him a foot had creaked a board. He had a peculiar
feeling someone was standing there, listening or trying
to peek through the keyhole.

Silently he got up and tiptoed to the door. He
listened a moment, then quickly unlocked it, jerked it
open and looked out into the dark upper hall.

Nobody there.

It seemed to him a door closed softly, somewhere;
but in the gloom he could see nothing.

Pie waited a moment, to make sure no one was spying,
then went back into the den and once more locked his
door.

"Getting an attack of nerves, myself, am I?" he
grumbled. "Forget it!"

Steadily he worked for about ten minutes. From
time to time he took more and more wires from a small
but deep drawer at the extreme right of the apparatus.
By the time his connections were all made, a compli
cated nexus of wires stretched like a coarse green web
from the chart to the plate.

"There, I shouldn't wonder if that would do the busi
ness !" he concluded at length, leaning back and puffing
at his weed. "Now for the time-adjustment, wave
length, rhythm and velocity."

Down along the sides of the Mercator and across its
top ran a series of brass dials, switches, knobs, buttons
and small, glistening levers.

Storm busied himself for another five minutes with
these, arranging, rearranging, altering, combining and

226 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

adjusting his effects. Once he got up and went over to
the table, where he covered a couple of sheets of scratch-
paper with a tangle of formulas, X's, Y's, Z's, sines,
cosines and logarithms.

"H-m-m-m!" he grunted. "Lucky I thought of
that! The combination of effect diminishing as the
cube of the distance, and the chronological difference
between here and Europe, introduces some pretty prob
lems !"

Then, having solved the matter, he went back to his
machine, and for a few minutes longer busied himself
in readjusting the combinations.

"That's right now; dead right every way!" judged
he at last. "Now I'll add just a little extra power and
then she'll do."

From the drawer he took a long double wire with an
ordinary electric-light connection at each end. He un
screwed the incandescent from one of the two lights in
his room, screwed one plug into this socket and the
other into a socket placed between the batteries and
the rubber plate.

Then he turned on the current. A low, gradually
rising hum issued from somewhere in the interior of the
radio jector, and a small black needle on one of the dials
began to mount very slowly.

Keen-eyed, Storm watched this. When it registered
1,500, he switched off the current, disconnected and
stowed the wires away.

Then he threw a handle and turned out the remain
ing light.

"Got to be sure everything's O. K.," said he, sitting
down again to watch.

STORM'S RADIOJECTOR 227

A singular effect began to grow visible. In the dark
of the room the outlines of the trunk gradually com
menced to show — shadows in a vague and ghostly light
which, pulsing with extreme rapidit}^ pierced the steel
as easily as sunlight traverses plate-glass.

White at first, the light gradually assumed a yellow
ish hue. As it strengthened, the whole interior mechan
ism became apparent, infinitely complex, adumbrated
by the unearthly and aurora-like gushes of illumination.

The light, from yellow, went green, then blue, then a
dazzling purple.

Storm glanced behind him at his shadow on the plain,
white-plastered wall.

There, seated on the merest dim-shaded suggestion of
a chair, was a human skeleton. As Storm, smiling,
raised his hand and worked the fingers, the skeleton
hand, utterly fleshless, did the same.

"Regular vaudeville stunt, eh?" said he. "Nice for
elderly nervous persons and children ! But it wouldn't
be a circumstance to them by comparison with what to
morrow's real performance will be to the gold-grubbers !

"Well, no use wasting power. The whole thing's
working to perfection. Give me another uninterrupted
week and I'll have 'em all so far in quod that they'll be
so much putty in my hand. Putty? Soft mud!"

He leaned forward and threw off the switch. The
light went blood-red, flickered a few times and died.
Then Storm stepped over to the incandescent and was
about to turn the button, when all at once he stopped.

Stock-still he stood, listening. In the dark, his fist
clenched with the eagerness of his attention. He held
his breath to hear.

228 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

Above him, at the skylight which looked down upon
his bureau and table, but did not command a view of
the trunk, a faint scratching sound seemed to have
made itself audible.

Motionless, Storm gave ear. But he heard nothing.

He did not, however, turn on the light.

Instead, he tiptoed to the bureau where, on coming
into the room, he had set his hand-bag.

This bag he noiselessly opened.

From it he , took his flash-lamp. Then, pointing the
tube upward toward the sort of shaftlike box at the top
of which the skylight was, he pressed the button.

The white arrow of light showed that, on the snow-
covered pane above, a little space had been scraped
clear. No eye appeared at it, but the peep-hole was
conclusively eloquent of furtive observation. Storm
knew somebody had been trying to spy on him — some
body who, when the room had gone dark, had probably
shrunk back into the lee of the chimney for shelter.

The scientist pushed the button again and extin
guished the electric beam. Then, angrier than he had
almost ever been in his whole life, he flung himself down
on the cot to think. Rather, to try to think ; for rage
blurred his reason.

All at once, an idea recurred to him — a memory of
the suspicious sound he had thought to hear at his door,
some time ago. He recalled the feeling of suspicion he
had felt, and swiftly pieced his evidence together.

"Damn them !" he growled. "Can't I shake them off?
How the devil does anybody know I'm here now? How
did that ruffian get up there on to that roof; how did
he know which skylight looked down into this room?

STORM'S RADIOJECTOR 229

Search me! But no matter — I'm up against it now if
I don't 'get' him some way before morning, and make
a paralyzing example of him! It's got to be done
quietly, too. No noise, no blood — quietly and with
science, or I may find myself in Dutch."

For a while, grown calmer now, he pondered.

"If a man's house, or his room, isn't his own castle,
then there's no such thing as law," he at length con
cluded. "I don't know as there is any law at all when
it's a case of ordinary people vs. plutocracy. If not,
I'll make my own.

"Let's see now. I reckon it this way: That skunk,
up there, won't go far. He's after me, to put me in
my wooden ulster; and he's after the machine, to bust
the devil out of it, the way those rough-necks smashed
my lab. This affair is going to be pulled off at once.
He'll probably skulk, up there, till he figures I'm asleep,
and then drop in for a call.

"If he gets away with it, I suppose he'll win a mighty
fine bundle from the Mammonites. If he's caught, he's
got backing that would clear him on any charge from
housebreaking to murder. But he doesn't expect to
get caught. There's no reason to believe he suspects
I know he's up there.

"No, he thinks I'm still in blissful ignorance on that
score. All right; my game is to keep him so. He's
doubtless waiting for me to go out. Shall I accommo
date him? Rather!"

He reflected a minute, trying to visualize the lay of
the land.

"If I figure rightly," he thought at last, "the roof
slopes pretty sharply toward the rear — the eaves ought

230 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

to overhang the alleyway. There's no back yard; just a
narrow court. I'm sure of that much, from what ob
servations I've already made. Also, this new snow
makes things good and slippery. I think, with the
proper momentum, a body would land in the allej all
right enough.

"But how to give the momentum? Ah! I have it!
By gad, it's some idea, what? As one man feeling for
another, I'm sorry for the poor devil. But this is a
war against war I'm carrying on, and it can't be helped.
Spies and informers caught inside my lines can't expect
any mercy. They've got to die !"

Storm, his mind thoroughly made up, climbed off the
cot and went to work. He turned on the incandescent.
Then, keeping well out of range of vision from the sky
light, he began improvising his man-trap. In less than
five minutes he had connected a long wire with the
socket which he had already used for charging the ra
dio jector. He put the powerful induction-coil of the
machine into his prospective circuit. Then turning out
the light again, he set his chair under the window in the
roof.

Standing on the chair, he could just reach the win
dow. A cord hung from this, passing over a pulley-
arrangement to raise and lower the pane for ventilation.
Storm detached this cord. In its place he fastened the
end of the insulated wire, scraped bare, making a rough
but good connection with the metal catch.

At last everything was ready. The wire hanging
from the catch would, he knew, make an excellent imi
tation of the cord which had previously been there. He
felt certain the intruder, if he returned to peer through

STORM'S RADIOJECTOR 231

the little peep-hole, would not stand one chance in a
thousand of ever detecting the substitution.

As for the other end of the wire connecting with the
radio jector, that was invisible from the roof.

Storm descended and drew the chair away, made a
light, and tested his new circuit. He found it gave a
voltage of 12,000.

"Good!" said he.

From the bureau, which lay in the line of sight of the
skylight, he took his hat and traveling-bag.

"Now I make my discreet exit. Here's betting that
inside of half an hour my unknown friend up there will
take another peek. What does he see? Hat gone.
Hand-bag gone.

"Ah, Mr. Storm is out for a few minutes, eh? Time
enough to slip in and jam an iron bar through the vitals
of the machine, then hide for Storm's return. When
Storm comes back, one crack with a sandbag or a lead
pipe — then a quick getaway over the roof. Cinch!
All right, he's welcome. That's all. Here's where I
give him a clear field for suicide."

Leaving the light burning, he went out. He locked
the door and made his way down-stairs.

"Well," he inquired of Angelica, "anything left to
eat? I've changed my mind about not having any sup
per, you know. It's too good to lose. Any macaroni
left? And if so, can I have some?"

Angelica smiled her hospitality. Compliments of the
family cooking, direct or implied, pleased her mightily.
The quick-eyed stranger who had dined there only an
hour before, who had asked a question or two about
the lodgers, and had then hired a room, himself, he, too,

232 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

had praised the macaroni. Now Signer Benton had
come down-stairs again, expressly to try a plate of it.
This was flattering.

Yes, indeed, there was plenty left, con formaggio,
signor — ah, molto buono, si! And he could be served
at once, if he would only be pleased to take a seat.

Storm was so pleased. Also, he finished by ordering
everything on the menu.

"Got to give that chap time enough, whatever hap
pens," thought he, toying with the Gorgonlike serpen
tine masses of the macaroni. "He must have all of
forty-five minutes, if I burst !"

By dint of a well-simulated interest in Italian cook
ery, Storm got access to the kitchen. This added an
other quarter hour to the time during which he was out
of his room and in the presence of people.

Nearly a full hour had passed before he once more
regained his room.

To his huge satisfaction — though it surprised him
not at all — he saw at a glance that the metal catch of
the skylight had been tampered with. Not opened;
just merely moved a little.

Across the glass a long, five-fingered clutch had
scraped the snow — a clutch of mortal agony.

Storm smiled, nodded, reflected a moment, and then
smiled with honest satisfaction.

"Gad!" remarked he. "Electricity is rather handy
at a pinch. Rather handy !"

He rigged a kind of curtain over the skylight, to
prevent any further observation.

Then he undressed and went to bed.

STORM'S RADIOJECTOR 233

The mystery of the well-dressed man found dead in
the alley back of Capotosto's restaurant early next
morning offered no data for solution.

He seemed to have been killed by a long fall; but the
snow-storm had obliterated any traces that might have
led to determining the spot whence he had dropped, or
the cause of that accident.

He might have been a burglar, who had fallen from
some roof or window, though the excellence of his cloth
ing and his general appearance rather negatived this
diagnosis.

One curious feature of the case was that the fingers
of his right hand were burned, as though by a powerful
electric current. And yet no cables ran through the
alley.

The case, in fine, utterly stumped the police. In the
great prevailing excitement of the Blight, the matter
faded to oblivion inside four-and-twenty hours.

There were but four men living who could have ex
plained it — the Triumvirate and John Storm. The
Triumvirate culled the news from their papers. Storm,
though he did not view the body, got all the essentials
from the excited Capotosto family. But he said noth
ing. The Capotostos privately mourned the sud
den loss of their new lodger, but kept close mouths,
lest the police put them through dreaded third de
grees.

Wainwright, when he came across the news item,
identified the man with that keen intuition which had
made him so formidable on the Exchange, and once
more gave way to a fit of passion. Passion of rage
and hate, wherein but one grain of consolation was to

234 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

be found, that, at all events, Storm's whereabouts had
been approximately located.

Murchison, reading his paper in the library, like
wise caught the news, read it twice over, sensed its
import and suddenly felt very ill.

It turned the old man sick and trembling. The pa
per rattled in his hand as he sat there by the fire which
no longer warmed him, trying to smoke a Mindanao
whence all savor had departed.

"Is he man or is he devil?" groaned the billionaire.
"I hire the cleverest sleuths in New York to kill him —
and he comes up smiling, strong and insolent. We
have him trailed, with a view to smashing his machine —
and our man is found electrocuted in a back alley !

"No way to reach him ? No redress ? No vengeance ?
And Braunschweig now every moment nearer and nearer
New York? And the world gone mad?

"Great God! I'm going mad, too — I — the master
of the world! Mad! Mad! Ah!— that white flag-
must I raise it? When? Which way shall I turn
now? What do?"

Then all at once he sprang up and, with a frightful
imprecation, shook his fist toward New York. His old
and wrinkled face went white with hate and rage and
passion. His teeth showed, worn and yellowish, despite
all care — like an old dog's teeth. His face was trans
formed an instant to a beast's. In a high, shrill, hor
rible voice, he cackled :

"I'll get you yet! Damn you! I'll get you — get
you yet!"

CHAPTER XXVII

THE FINAL DATS OF RESPITE

TRUE to his carefully calculated and calmly made an
nouncement, Storm next day ripped savagely into the
living, palpitating heart of the financial world. For,
though he had watched the Metropolitan Tower, off and
on, all that morning — through a periscope in his sky
light — he had observed no signs of capitulation.

"No white flag yet!" said he grimly at 11.30, as he
turned to make some final adjustments on the radio-
jector.

"That means war, for fair — war to a finish, on the
power of gold. If they want it, and mean to have it,
Gad ! I can give it to 'em, all right enough !

"Will the fools never learn? Never — till it's too
late? Well, that's their lookout. It's no concern of
mine. Here goes !"

That day, not only did he transmute into worthless
ash the gold reserve of every private and national bank,
but he also blighted the ultimate hidden treasure in
every safe-deposit vault of the entire United States.

Even as mobs were rioting in front of such places
all over the country, trying to hire boxes at any figure,
for the storage of coin and family heirlooms, their
treasures turned to dust in their hands and pocket.
Numbers of men and women went insane, in such vaults,

235

236 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

as, in the very act of locking up their valuables, these
crumbled beneath their touch. Some few suicides fol
lowed hard upon the heels of these maddening losses.

And in a far-flung circle that swept London, Berlin,
Paris and Rome, on the east, and the whole American
continent on the west, a circle that clipped the value
from the bolivars of Rio as well as from the kroner of
Scandinavia, a circle that gripped a full third of the
entire surface of the globe, Storm unloosed the light
nings of his vibratory force.

Nothing was spared, nothing save just the national
gold-hoards. In Christiania, London, Madrid, Paris
and all the capitals of the Old World countries (save
Greece, Turkey, Russia, Austria and the Balkans),
stark panic reigned on the bourses. Terrible scenes,
reported thence by the disorganized cable service and
by wireless, found their parallels in Mexico City, all
over the northern half of South America, and through
out the United States and Canada.

Yet not one national fund in any country was
touched. The Blight spared, alike, the four-hundred-
ton hoard in the Wall Street Sub-Treasury, and the
stacked-up canvas bags, which — tier on tier like so
many coffee sacks — held one thousand two hundred tons'
of yellow metal, deep in the subterranean vaults be
neath the Treasury in Washington.

All other public funds were spared, as well. Storm
had no motive for damaging foreign governments, for
the benefit of his own. He understood right well that
there was but one government in the world — the inter
national, standardized government of gold. And this
government, the same under empires, monarchies or

THE FINAL DAYS OF RESPITE 237

republics, always and forever holding the people in
subjection for the benefit of the capitalist class, he
was reserving as the object of his final assault.

For the present, only private wealth suffered.
Though the English government, panic-stricken, re
moved all its wealth, its massed bullion and minted
golden surplus from the vaults of the Bank of England
—"the Little Old Lady of Threadneedle Street"— to
hastily prepared, lead-foil-lined oubliettes in secret
raults, the precaution was unnecessary. Storm would
not have smitten this reserve. Not yet !

Intact remained the Danish national wealth in the
Rosenborg Slot at Copenhagen; the French funds in
the Banque de France, and the Credit Lyonnais; the
Italian gold in the Banca Nazionale; the Spanish gold
in the Escurial. All other funds of official govern
mental character likewise escaped.

So accurately attuned, so finely adjusted had the
radio jector been, that these incalculable murder-hoards
all were reserved for the final act of the world-drama,
the last crushing broadside of his attack.

But even though the national reserves still existed,
the private losses of the capitalist and middle classes
drove them insane.

Before the sudden, smashing impact of the Blight, all
privately owned gold, inside the huge zone, faded and
blanched, crumbled, disappeared.

Speculators of all kinds began running mad, in
myriad crooked, intricate and unheard-of forms of
gambling. The insurance companies were suddenly
swamped with applicants for insurance on gold.

A score of strange reflex actions began to flare up.

238 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

By swarms, prophets and fanatics began ranting in
every tongue, all over Europe and America. New sects
commenced to form with wonderful swiftness ; and many
of the old ones, principally the least rationalistic, began
growing with incredible rapidity. Huge camp-meet
ings took spontaneous form, in the south, with monster
Hiass-baptisms in rivers and lakes.

As at all times of social turmoil, the churches —
chronically dwindling and many of them practically
moribund — began to reap great harvests. Fear now
as always engendered superstition. In many temples,
all-day and all-night services of prayer and supplica
tion were held, and enormous crushes swarmed to gain
admission. The Adventists and Millerites sprang into
renewed activity, and many a strange, grotesque hegira
to mountain-tops, undertaken by devotees in white
robes, bore witness to the still-persisting credulity of
the human race.

Everywhere, the social, economic and financial effect
of the Blight was instant and crushing.

"Gold! Gold is perishing!" This cry had sufficed
to set the whole world raving mad.

As in New York, so also in London, incredible scenes
resulted.

So accurately adjusted had been the various zones of
activity of the radio jector, that for the first two days
of the general attack, not the whole city of London
was swept. The entire northeastern sections still es
caped.

The circumference of the circle of destruction shaved
through the Bank of England, just included the
Tower, and so shot off in a gigantic southeasterly

THE FINAL DAYS OF RESPITE 239

curve, through Southwark, Camberwell and Dulwich.

Up to the actual moment when the Blight struck
London, the Briton had pooh-poohed it.

"All very well for America!" the verdict had been.
"Most extraordinary clever person back of it all,
no doubt; but he simply cawn't touch us, you
know!"

Had you seen the white-gilled, frightened clerks and
dignitaries swarming out of the Bank, their quill-pens
still in their hands, their papers and books and balance-
sheets still with the sand upon them — for, as everybody
knows, the great bank uses no blotters, but only sand,
in the fashion of 1700 — had you observed the gasping,
pale-faced, stammering and distracted officials drag
ging out sacks, empty save for a little dirty gray dust
at the bottom, you would have changed your mind
about English aplomb.

Never had Zeppelin raids, submarine outrages or the
naval bombardments of undefended watering-places so
agitated the British public as now did this devastating
attack on British gold.

Not even the Royal Lancers and the Scots Guards,
j oined with practically the whole London reserve police,
could hold back the terrific mobs from about the finan
cial district of London. In the vicinity of the Tower,
all among those narrow and crooked streets along the
Thames as far as Dock Street and Wapping Basin,
stark panic reigned.

Singular scenes occurred among the stodgy old
"beef-eaters" or guardians of that venerable pile
wherein the crown jewels and much of the royal treas
ure had been kept since time immemorial.

240 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

The sight of the crown jewels melting away, fading
before their very vision, crumbling down in the solid
crystal cases and in the steel safes of the vaults, was
beyond words terrifying to English eyes.

It seemed as though the heart and soul of England
were rotting, failing, perishing. These, the ultimate,
inmost, sacred treasures of the throne and of the realm
— which every loyal Englishman would have defended
with his last drop of blood — at the first wasting breath
of the Blight simply ceased to be.

And all that splendor, all that glory now was
brought to a few confused, hideous heaps of dust, sprin
kled with dulled jewels and loose, unset gems.

That night, no man slept from Land's End to John
o'Groat's House. And over the smitten realm a vast,
inchoate, monstrous panic reigned; a crawling, sicken
ing fear — an anguish such as since time was, England
had never known.

Russia flared into quick revolution as the Blight
smote her. Both Petrograd and Moscow, quickly laid
under martial law, became vast military camps ; but no
Cossack horde, no Preobejanski Guards, could stem
the torrent. Against this unknown force saber and
rifle and knout were impotent. And the nation, from
Czar to peasant, reeled under the shock. From the
Neva to the Urals the stricken empire staggered.

Paris was one red seethe of delirium. The vast open
parks and spaces were crammed with surging mobs.
The Tuilleries, Louvre, Champ de Mars — all contained
uncounted hundreds of thousands clamoring, yelling,
fighting, even bleeding in the frightful violence of that
terrorized struggle for news.

THE FINAL DAYS OF RESPITE 241

In the Place de POpera, the mounted gendarmerie
had a pitched battle with the mob.

From the top of the Eiffel Tower gigantic bulletins
were flung against the fa9ade of the Trocadero, across
the Seine. And all that night, millions watched while
bit by bit the terrible news of the Blight was hurled
there by the blinding rays from the tower.

Berlin received the blow more stolidly, full in the
face ; she staggered, reeled, but kept her feet. Though
huge mobs swarmed up and down Unter den Linden and
throughout the city, yet the national depression caused
by the disastrous outcome of the Pan-European war,
as well as the scarcity of gold in Germany, due to that
Hohenzollern fiasco, made for better order.

Pale-faced, spectacled German scientists made con
tinuous tests on such funds as still remained, working
like huge rats in the dim, groined recesses of the vaults.

Everywhere throughout the stricken area in Europe,
savants were doing the same. For even though the
Great War had profoundly shaken the capitalist sys
tem, gold still remained the basis of civilization.

Not yet had come any understanding of the great
change that impended over the world. Still one dom
inant idea persisted — the hope of gain, from the calam
ity; the burning eagerness to save something, at least,
from the seeming wreck. To get rid of gold, men
bought everything, anything — land, houses, silver, dia
monds, even infinitudes of trivial, useless, foolish trifles.
But, as the fear of the Blight increased, the value of
gold fell, until its purchasing power fell to almost zero.

Fell? Dropped, rather; plumbed down at one sheer
swoop. In two days after the Blight struck Europe,

242 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

the price of gold shrank in London from £4 4s
per ounce, to less than £1 10s. .

Tremendous speculations in gold began all over the
world. A three-day period of immunity, granted by
Storm, had now set in. During this time confidence
revived again, and vast movements of gold began to
develop. Banking-houses, exchanges and bourses re
mained open day and night. The streets of the capi
tals in both worlds seethed at midnight as at midday.
In the midst of cataclysmic business failures and a
perfect debacle of ruin and suicide, other businesses of
a speculative nature burst out, leaped to gigantic pro
portions almost in an hour and for a space swam on
the turgid, rushing tides of world-disaster.

Spontaneous markets established themselves.
"Curbs" were formed and dissolved as by magic. Gold
changed hands— what little private gold was left— at
irrational figures.

Began, also, the first premonitory symptoms of the
trading in gold-ash, which as you shall see, later played
so tremendous a part in the whole drama.

News of astonishing incidents filtered in from strange
sources. Had there been writers in any frame of mind
to record these events or dramatize them, wondrous
books and plays could have beer built around even the
smallest of these amazing events. Some of the most
surprising developments took place where East and
West meet, where the twentieth century grazes the
fifteenth, in North Africa, in Algeria and Tunis.

From the French colonies along the southern shores
of the Mediterranean, and from the Sahara, weird tales
drifted into Europe. The Arabs, Berbers and Algeri-

THE FINAL DAYS OF RESPITE 243

ans, when their gold melted like the fabled snow tlic^
had long heard of but never seen — when all this van
ished, especially the age-long-hoarded and infinitely
precious golden ornaments, nose-rings, anklets and coin-
necklaces of their women (especially of the Ouled-Nails,
whose dowries hung about their necks), these strange
brown people screamed in vain to Allah II Allah, for
vengeance on the Frank, the infidel dog whose magic
had wrought not only this outrage, but had committed
the terrible sacrilege of stripping all the golden domes
and inscriptions of the Ineffable Name from a thousand
mosques.

And a Jehad, a holy war of consuming, flamelike sav
agery leaped instantly from Alexandria to Tangier;
the green banner of the Prophet flung itself snapping
broadly to the sirocco !

Swarming like locusts from the desert, the hill-men,
the desert-men, the men of the oases and the hinterland
all met. From Biskra and the Desert of Igidi they
came, from Hammada-el-Homra and far Abu-Gossi,
beyond the Oasis of Selimah; and before any of the
European powers could even mobilize relief columns, in
all of northern Africa, outside of the walled towns, not
one white face remained.

The famed Foreign Legion of daredevils of all nation
alities singularly enough put up no fight at all.

Scared bloodless by the Blight, soaked in supersti
tion, these wastrels, whose only thought was loot, gain,
gold, now suddenly found in their lonely desert camps
and among their camel-trains that all their wealth was
dross.

The beakers and chalices, the rings and jewels, the

244 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

golden images and gauds looted from innumerable raids,
swiftly crumbled to dust.

Even the gold braid and buttons, the gold sword-
hilts, the show and panoply of power — all, all dropped
away and vanished like a dream.

And, fast as camels' padded hoofs could carry them,
fast as their stallions or their own fright-weakened legs
could travel, they fled before the rising swarms of
brown-skinned Mohammedan tribesmen.

Fled with parched tongues and bent backs, sweating
beneath their cache-nuques, over the mirage-beckoning,
sandstorm-swept deserts.

Nameless battles, routs and massacres by the Ber
bers and fierce hill-men freed the world of uncounted
numbers of these unhanged thugs and chevaliers d'in-
dustrie. But many thousands, spent and sun-baked,
won through to the coast towns, to the reassurances of
the plaza, the galvanized iron table, the green-eyed
milky curse of the snow-cooled absinthe in the tall glass.
And there, dazed and uncomprehending, they told wild
tales, the least of which would have furnished forth a
fiction-writer with material for great gain.

Thus the white invader of the Prophet's lands fled
the Blight and the pursuing hordes of the Faithful.
Thus retreated those who, with the power of Gold be
hind them, gladly would have faced the Mahdi, had he
possessed a hundred times as many tribesmen. And
desert Africa for a time, throughout its whole northern
reaches, once more swept clean of the invader, the
infidel dog, became all brown, all black.

CHAPTER XXVIII

NIGHT IN THE STRICKEN CITY

THAT history never will be written in its entirety.
From stricken bank to suspended industry ; from hoard
ing miser to cowering plutocrat, hiding — like the Tri
umvirate now — in close-guarded estates, away from the
frenzied mobs of starving men and women that had be
gun to roam and wreck ; from rich to poor, from high
to low, all grades and strata fell apart in prostrate
impotence and panic.

Laws failed to operate. Courts and judges fell,
crashing, from their pedestals of power. Police and
militia broke like reeds, before this tempest. Even the
armies of the world, hastily called upon for service, to
shoot and bayonet the people into dumb submission
once again, now snarled with bared teeth at their former
masters.

Mutiny reigned. The leaven of new intelligence was
at work. Forever past was the day of blind, unthink
ing obedience to the masters' will. Already the men
in blue, the men in khaki, had begun to use their brains ;
and the supposedly impregnable mass of trained butch
ers had now got wholly out of hand. Plutocracy re
alized, too late, that the watch-dog might at any mo
ment turn on them and rend their throats, instead of
throttling the dumb, driven cattle of the proletaire.

245

246 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

And white-faced fear reigned at Washington, in Wall
Street, at Edgecliff and in every chancellory, every
throne-room, every plutocratic stronghold in the whole
World of Gold.

The golden binding-cords, once loosened, showed what
the true component elements of society really were.
Now men and women, for the most part, revealed them
selves as mere puppets, bound with golden wires, moved
by golden strings. In the whirling jinnee-breath of the
hell-storm that scorched the world, only the Social Rev
olutionists remained calm.

They only, understanding the true philosophy of
values, the real worthlessness of gold, labored like
Titans, through their press, with innumerable meetings
and with hosts of "soap-boxers," to spread oil on these
stormy waters. Yet, though thousands listened and
were made wise, the vast majority of mankind heeded
not ; and even though these social prophets "spake with
tongues of wisdom's eternal flame," yet chaos swept
the world.

Chaos, in which the dreaded "Iron Heel" of militar
ism itself was swept away like chaff. Chaos, insensate
and incomprehensible. Chaos, hurling the mad world
whither ?

John Storm, throughout it all — calm, collected, ac
curate in his daily scourgings of the earth, his pitiless
and relentless destruction of gold in ever-widening
areas — meanwhile continued to watch through his peri
scope for some signal of capitulation, some flicker of
the huge white flag on top of the Metropolitan Tower
— the tower whose golden pinnacle now was dull as lead.
And day followed day, yet still no banner flung itself

NIGHT IN THE STRICKEN CITY 247

abroad upon the winds of heaven, hundreds of feet
above the tortured city.

"Ha !" smiled he, bitterly, to himself. "So, then, still
stiff-necked? The idiots in their insensate blindness
must have their final lesson. And Ridpath, the his
torian, was right when he said: 'The iron teeth of
monopoly, once fastened on the marrow-bone of privi
lege, never relax until the jaw itself is broken.'

"Broken? Wait! I'm ready for that job, too, if
they are!"

Thus came the final days.

John Storm mingled once more with the howling,
roaring, mafficking mobs that now for a considerable
time — mocking both police and military which dared
not shoot them down — had held possession of Broadway
and all the city's vital arteries, as well as the financial
district.

Storm was amazed and horrified by the tremendous
forces he had let loose — like the Arabian Nights fisher
man who liberated the spirit from the brass bottle; — •
astounded, yet filled with a vast, soul-enkindling pride.

"All for good," said he. "All working for ultimate
good, as atoms work in a reaction; though they don't
know it, these men and women, any more than the atoms
do. But the result — that comes !"

The whole aspect of the city was entirely changed.
Little or no vehicular traffic was to be seen. Much of
the tramway service and of the "L" and subway system
was paralyzed. Shops were boarded up; special
guards, heavily armed, swarmed everywhere; business
was at a standstill, save along speculative lines, where
it flared and blazed in thousands of fantastic shapes.

248 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

In the cosmic discord every relation of life seemed
awry, inverted, unreal. The stupid, unthinking, slav
ish world, suddenly deprived of its age-long fetish, gold,
was drifting rapidly toward Bedlam.

The wolf-instinct of mankind for a time seemed get
ting the upper hand. Atavism leaped up. Every in
dividual now grabbed, fought, struck for his own, tore
away what he could grasp, and showed his teeth to
defend his booty. "I must get mine! Mine!" the
world's thought had become. Altruism perished. Self
dominated.

Organized society became a stampeded pack of ani
mals, fighting, rending, tearing, bleeding — and under
standing nothing of what was really taking place.

Strange the ways in which the Blight struck home.
Multifarious the bits of its incredible action, which
Storm picked up as he mingled with the people of the
distracted metropolis.

Here he caught a word : "But, oh ! When I went to
look at the chain my mother gave me — !"

Again: "That was my lucky piece, old man. Had
that five-dollar gold piece since '48. Never even let it
go out o' my pocket. Well — "

Storm heard a haggard cabman hoarsely telling a
mate:

"Thirteen years' savin's, that's wot. In gold! All
in gold! Ye see, I wasn't goin' to take no chances.
No paper, fer mine, no, nor silver. Just gold! But
when this here strikes, an' I goes to git my stuff —
Gawd!"

On the corner of Thirty-third Street and Broadway
he overheard this bit:

NIGHT IN THE STRICKEN CITY 249

"Ain't no use tryin' to save it by hidin' it, Bill.
That's straight! Now here was our union funds, I'm
tellin' you. And — "

Still another: "The worst of it was, Mac, I'd just
had that big gold sign put up the very day before
this struck. So I'm out — "

Storm grimaced.

"Gad !" thought he. "It's a rotten shame, all right,
to have had to do this to all these innocent people —
just to get the skunks ! But war is war — it's Hell !
And here's one case where the innocent have got to
suffer with the guilty — for a time, just for a little time,
till everything's made 'better than well.' '

He pushed his way along Thirty-fourth, to the Wal
dorf. Here he entered, minded to investigate some
thing of the psychology of the master-class.

The hotel offices and corridors were packed with
a shouting, gesticulating mob. Not the great finan
ciers here, but the lesser lights of the golden reign —
the brokers, smaller bankers, speculators and Wall
Street men somewhat below the apex of the golden
pyramid.

Storm watched a while, wandered about, pushed
through the crowds of well-dressed, excited, frightened
men and women, peered into the dining-halls where
though the heavens fell, wine would still flow, and at last
came back to sit down in the long, main, brilliantly
lighted corridor.

The man in the chair next his own attracted
Storm's attention.

Haggard, ashen-gray, he was horrible to look upon.
His clothes, of elegant cut and fine material, were

250 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

wrinkled and covered with dust. His eyes were those
of a suicide.

Storm spoke to him.

"Hard hit, stranger?"

The man groaned, then suddenly burst into tears.

"Wiped out !" he stammered.

"All gone?"

"Last night I had one hundred and fifty thousand
dollars in gold in the strongest safe-deposit vault in
Brooklyn," he stammered. "To-night, d'you know
what I've got? Sixteen and a half pounds of ashes!
Oh, merciful God!"

Up he sprang. He staggered blindly through the
crowd. He vanished. Storm shook his head.

"If he'd spent that intelligently, now!" thought he.
"Land, houses, broad fields, woods, anything! But
no — they worship gold, gold, gold! And, by the
Almighty, they must feel the lash, for their idolatry !"

He arose, too, and, as though he were a stranger in
the city, stared about him.

An agitated hotel employee was struggling to get
through the press.

Storm helped make a way for him. As the man
came through, Storm got him by the arm, and asked:

"What's up? What's wrong here? I'm just in
from Rio. Tell me about this !"

"Let go, you!" retorted the employee.

"Not till you tell me !"

The man stared at Storm. Then he began to
laugh, bitterly.

"Huh?" he fired at Storm. "You don't know?"

"Know what? Everybody's crazy, here, or how?'

MIGHT IN THE STRICKEN CITY 251

"Say ! Ha ! ha ! Here's something big — a man that
don't know what's doin'! Here, you come with me.
I'm on my way, now. I'll show you !"

They went up in the elevator, which was packed full,
to the ninth floor.

"Know th' gold room?"

Storm shook his head.

"I'm a stranger, I tell you. Coffee-planter, from
just outside Rio. What's up? The whole town gone
insane?"

"And you ain't read the papers ? Ain't heard, on the
trip?"

"Seasick, all the way. Just docked; took a taxi up
here. City looks like it had been through a revolution.
What's the matter? Everybody in New York gone
crazy?"

The man flung open a door.

"Look!" cried he. "That's what I've got to see
about cleanin' up — this here gold room !"

Storm peered in.

"Gold room? I don't see any gold."

"No, not now. Y'oughta seen it, though, before the
Blight struck. Now look at it!"

"It's certainly a mess," said Storm. "All lead-col
ored — and the carpet, all ashes !"

"Ashes ! You're damned right, mister. Some ash«s,
believe me ! The Blight done that."

Still Storm shook his head.

"I don't understand," said he, slowly, "What's it
all about? Blight? What Blight?"

But the employee, with a sudden savage oath, turned
on him with upraised fist.

252 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

"Aw! Get t' Hell out o' here!" he cried with pas
sion. "You're bugs! Beat it, you, or I'll have you
pulled. Don't know about the Blight, huh? Nutty!
Plumb nutty ! Go on, now, go on ! Skate !"

Storm, still pretending mystification, withdrew.

Five minutes later he was listening to a hot, many-
voiced argument in the lobby. But he refrained from
getting involved.

To a man at his elbow, however, he remarked:

"I'm wiped out by this. You?"

"Never touched me," chuckled the other. "First
crack out o' the box, bought silver ! Oh, a cinch !
That was before the news struck Galveston. Regular
wires down with a storm. But I had a tip by private
wire. Quick work! Not too bad, eh? Good thing to
have a live broker in little old New York, to put you
wise !"

Storm drifted out into the street again. He walked
a couple of blocks down Fifth Avenue, then turned
west and once more struck into the aorta of New York
— Broadway — pondering on the intellectual chaos of
the self-boasting "masters of society," the propertied
class, as mirrored in the wild, inconclusive, anarchistic
scenes and arguments he had just heard and witnessed.

Under the red "flaming arcs" — for still the city, even
in its seeming dissolution, kept its myriad galaxies of
lights blazing, its sky-signs gleaming, darting, spark
ling vividly in the winter night, the night of approach
ing Christmas — life swarmed with inconceivable
abandon.

Beggar and drunken spendthrift rake jostled each
other; wan, out-of-work and hard-eyed painted women

NIGHT IN THE STRICKEN CITY 253

elbowed each other; dope-fiends — of whom the number
had now largely increased — shuffled along with those
crazed by their losses ; the idle, the ruined, the curious,
the crafty-scheming — all drove on and on together,
through the whirl of speculation, wild disorder and un
bridled license.

And blood flowed, too ; and tumult reigned London,
with its most ferocious hooligan forays, was calm bj
contrast with New York during these last nights of
the Blight.

Storm stopped for a few minutes at the corner of
Broadway and Thirty-First Street, to harken to one
of the innumerable street-preachers — a black man,
sweating with fear and zeal — hurling denunciations at
the gibing horde as he stood there on an upturned
barrel.

One hand grasped a lamp-post. The other vibrated
eerily in the electric-lighted night. And the white
teeth gleamed, the eyeballs rolled as ecstatic frenzy
seized the howling fanatic.

Through the tumult, Storm caught a phrase or two :

"An' de Beast was wid seven horns — wheels within
wheels — de days ob Armageddon, my breddren — flee de
Y/rath to come ! Oh, sinners, for de Son ob Man com-
eth— !"

All at once, the black man vanished.

A louder roar burst upward, echoing against the
barricaded shops and through the shattered windows.
Somebody had kicked in the barrel-staves. The
preacher was down. Over him the mob passed, over
anu on, as Murchison had seen it pass, the first day
of the Blight, over another man in Wall Street.

254 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

Storm shuddered, and buried his face still deeper in
his upturned collar.

"Gad!" thought he, as he drifted onward with the
tumult, toward the flaring, fighting, roaring bulletin-
board area of Herald Square. "If it were known that
I, John Storm, had started all this; and if the wolf-
pack here should recognize me — what then?"

A vision of his body, jerked and shredded into tiny,
red-dripping strings and fragments, bits of quivering
rawness tossed on high along the bellowing flood-tide
of the street, flashed before his eyes.

He put the vision away with a grim set of the jaw.

"Soon, now!" he whispered to himself; and in his
ulster-pockets his hard fists gripped like iron — the fists
that now held the whole world and squeezed and
wrought it as a potter works the clay upon his wheel.

"Soon, now, the final blow! And then—?"

At the same hour, Graf Maximilian Braunschweig's
powerful yacht, the Sieger, was cutting across the
Grand Banks, splitting the fog and brine in the last
lap of its swift, untiring trajectory to New York.

On her gale-swept foredeck stood the massive, long-
bearded figure of the Jewish financier. Though night
and mist enshrouded the Atlantic, still his eyes were
turned toward America.

High up the mast against which he leaned, the faint,
incessant, crepitant sparkle of the wireless bespoke
the messages hurled out ahead of him.

Thus Braunschweig drew near his prey.

To-morrow — what then?

To-morrow!

CHAPTER XXIX

THE COMING OF BRAUNSCHWEIG

AT half past ten of the culminant day, a notable
meeting took place in the inner private office of Hudson
D. Campbell, director of the Wall Street Sub-Treasury.

Secretly arranged at the instance of Murchison —
who, now that the final blow was about to be struck,
had once more emerged into activity — it comprised a
dozen of the financial and governmental supermen.

Wainwright was there, and Baker, and — of course —
the lean, gray, nervous figure of Murchison himself.
There was Campbell, with Stanley M. Whitney, secre
tary of the United States Treasury; and there, too,
were other men, for the most part tight-lipped and
hard-browed — men known and feared and cringed to
from world's end to world's end.

Yet silence held them as the director's bronze clock
ticked on the mahogany desk; silence, save for a mut
tered word, a cough, a sorry mockery of a smile.
Silence, till Campbell, leaning a little forward, struck
the desk-top a single sharp blow with his ruler.

"Gentlemen!" said he.

All looked at him, dour and ugly and harassed. No
body answered. Nobody thought of tobacco. When
men meet to talk and do not think of smoking — watch
them!

255

256 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

"Gentlemen," repeated Campbell, his voice dry and
rasping, his gray eyes shifting nervously from face to
face, "we all know why we are here. We all grant that
the case, so far, is proved. Futhermore, I think we
all agree that a real danger may possibly threaten the
national treasure to-day. I do not say it does so
threaten ; I merely intimate that it may. But even the
possibility is worth our most serious attention. I now
declare this meeting open for a free discussion of the
issue."

He ceased. Murchison, glancing keenly about, said
with emphasis:

"Everybody knows everybody here. I reckon any
thing that's said in this room, goes no further. It had
better not, that's all! But before we begin I want to
say just this: We men here can handle this situation.
There's enough of us as it is. All right. Nobody else
must come in at that door. I want at least one hour
for uninterrupted discussion. One hour!

"At 11 :45, as I understand the situation, the threat
made against the Sub-Treasury deposit here may pos
sibly take effect. If we decide to quit by 11 :30, we
shall have time enough to 'phone up to the Metropolitan
and have the flag hoisted. You all understand the
terms, I know.

"The point at issue is just this — does the flag go up
or does it not? Do we yield to that — " and he jerked
his thumb eloquently at an old steel-engraving of "The
Baltimore Riot" that hung over the director's desk —
"do we give in to the mob, and to one single, vicious,
hidden anarchist; or do we stand for individualism,
freedom, and untrammeled Americanism?

COMING OF BRAUNSCHWEIG 257

"That, gentlemen, is the question now up to us !"

He leaned back in his chair and, tapping the arm
nervously as was his habit, waited an answer.

The answer was not long in coming; and, after it,
another and another.

Fifteen minutes had not passed before the inviolable
quietude of the director's office was shattered by loud
and angry words, by threats, accusations and counter
charges, by personalities and the lie direct.

All parliamentary convention thrown aside, two,
three, five men were on their feet ai> once, shouting and
gesticulating. Campbell's pounding with the ruler had
about as much effect, now, as a single drop of oil on
the whole North Atlantic. These men, cooped there
together like wolves in a diminishing circle of flame,
snarled at each other with bared fangs, each fighting
for what each thought his own personal advantage.

One shouted advice to cede, to hoist the flag while
there might still be time, and thus rake from the fire
of destruction the remaining chestnuts.

Another advocated subterfuge and trickery, a false
truce, with some chance of laying hands on John
Storm's person and dealing summarily with him.

"Sweep New York with fire!" vociferated a third.
"That will clean out his infernal apparatus, anyhow
— it's bound to! Better lose one city than the whole
world!"

Through all, over all, bellowed Wainwright's dom
inant threat:

"Gold or no gold, we're masters! We hold the jobs
— if we say so, the world starves! Let 'em starve or
submit, whatever happens !"

258 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

Just how the stranger entered, or at what precise
moment he arrived, they could not tell.

His presence became known among them, that was
all. Suddenly, there he stood at the far end of the
room, a strange, tremendous figure of a man.

Tall, robust, huge-chested; with a rabbinical beard
of gray; with level-sighted eyes and a great spatulate-
fingered hand that he raised as though demanding
silence, he remained motionless just inside the doorway.

He spoke no word, but merely looked — and waited.

Silence fell.

But the calm lasted hardly a moment.

Then Murchison, white with passion, leaped up.

"Sir!" cried he.

Wainwright cursed and stared. The others turned
angry faces at the interloper.

The stranger bowed. He smiled, and with an in
definably suave gesture that seemed to epitomize ages
of European culture, indicated that he waited their
pleasure.

"Who is this man?" shouted Murchison, hardly con
taining himself with the most tremendous effort. "I
gave orders, positive orders, that nobody should be
admitted to this room!

"Nobody! Hear me? Nobody! Not even the
President of the United States ! And here — "

"Yes, here I am, an interloper, I admit," broke in
the stranger with perfect fluency, though a slight
accent. "An intruder, you call it? But you should
make me welcome! I come not to bring a sword, but
peace. I — "

"Who the Hell are you, anyhow, to offer anything?"

COMING OF BRAUNSCHWEIG 259

burst out Wainwright, clenching both fists. "And
how—"

"Did I get in past the watchmen? Ah, it is easy
to do so with a few paltry handfuls of coins. But I
do not wonder at your surprise, gentlemen. I do not
blame you that you fail to recognize me. Publicity I
never allow. My picture is not printed in the reviews
or papers. No. Yet, never mind; I can save you
none the less. For — "

"Who are you?" roared the billionaire, smiting the
secretary's desk so hard that ink spattered from the
bronze well. "Your name, or by Heaven, out that
door you go!"

"I can still save you, gentlemen, for my name is
Maximilian Braunschweig. Gentlemen, at your
service !"

CHAPTER XXX

THE GEE AT JEW'S OFFEE

AGAIN he bowed his head, with his broad hand laid
on his breast. Then, lifting his eyes once more, he
fixed a satirical, untroubled gaze on that startled
assembly, that "gold-lust syndicate of dollar-mark
statesmen."

Murchison turned livid.

"Your— " stammered he.

At Braunschweig he stared with eyes of hate and
terror.

"You?"

For years, for many troubled years, he had felt the
pressure of this impersonal, invisible force, half-
mythically summed in the name "Braunschweig." For
years he had rebelled against this looming, ever-grow
ing, always-mounting European power ; this intangible,
self-obliterating menace.

For decades he had, with increasing frequency, been
forced to recognize the presence of the Jewish world-
financier's hand in even some of his most intimate, most
jealously-cherished monetary ventures.

When, in 1907, he had opened up the South Bechuana-
land Railway, with a view to exploiting the Kuruman
diamond-fields, he had only too late discovered that
Braunschweig had already acquired a controlling op-

260

THE GREAT JEW'S OFFER 261

tion on every blue-clay region from Barkley northwest
to Molanuan. The Graf had, next year, fought him
in the Baku oil-region and driven him ignominiously
thence; and at other times had jockeyed him out of
some millions in connection with the Balkan-Turkish
war, the Pan-European catastrophe and the Hui-nan
Railway. The Jew's ever-gaping coffers had, in a score
of cases, swallowed profits and dividends that Murchi
son looked upon as his own just perquisites ; and though
he had still remained the richest man in the world, yet
he had been forced to feel the menace of this European
power and to take cognizance of this ever-expanding
rivalry.

Unable to check it or to effect consolidation, he had
fought — and often lost. And, gradually, a bitter per
sonal hate for the name and all it implied had grown
up in the billionaire's soul.

But now, now that — alien and uninvited, hostile and
menacing despite his smile — the man himself actually
stood there before him, deferential, yet with a glint of
prescient victory in his eye, Murchison felt the bonds
of self-restraint all bursting.

And Wainwright, too, sprang up; Wainwright, who
at the Englewood conference had sworn "no Heiny
need apply!"

The two men faced Braunschweig. Not yet under
standing, the others gasped and stared.

Then, for a moment, tension drew fine to the break
ing-point.

Murchison snapped it.

"I protest!" ejaculated he, and raised his fist in air.
"You, sir, are entitled to consideration as a foreign

262 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

nobleman; I grant you that. But as an uninvited
intruder at this important gathering of financiers and
government officials, I franklj state that we cannot
welcome you."

Braunschweig merely smiled, but said no word.
Campbell, the chairman, gaped in amazement. His
should have been the place to speak, in the name of this
gathering ; but the billionaire, at last analysis the mas
ter of them all, preempted this right, and the others
only listened.

"We have not solicited your advice," continued Mur-
chison, his voice rising as anger swamped caution.
"We have not requested your presence here. My house
is open to you, sir, as a guest, but not my business
affairs. I positively must ask you to withdraw !"

"Same here !" cried Wainwright, mottled with rage.
"We don't want any infernal — "

"There, drop that!" Baker choked him off, clapping
a firm hand over the copper czar's mouth. In Wain-
wright's ear he whispered:

"This man owns more than twenty per cent, of the
whole of Europe! Kings and czars obey him. He's
the 'Unseen Empire,' I tell you. Insult him, and we're
in for it! Keep quiet, will you?"

Everybody tried to talk at once. Hands waved in
air, fists shook, and faces darkened with passion ; reins
stood out on the foreheads of world-renowned finan
ciers; government officials of the highest rank forgot
their dignity and shouted epithets, bawled gutter-filth
at one another.

Turmoil reigned.

The Secretary of the Treasury even tried to clamber

THE GREAT JEW'S OFFER 263

on to his desk, whence to address them; but strong
hands pulled him back.

Alone unmoved, courteous, patient — yet still with
that formidable light in his eye — Graf Braunschweig
stood near the door. His tall silk hat he held over
his heart. On his bearded lips lingered a faint sug
gestion of a smile.

Murchison, exhausted by the poignancy of his emo
tions, had now sat down again and was staring with
intense antipathy at the Graf. Much as he hated the
man, he could not but modify his opinion. Where he
had expected a red-jowled, domineering "junker" of the
nouveau riche variety, he now beheld a broad-browed,
calm and massive nobleman, poised, level, strong.

And, as by intuition, he realized that, however much
the assemblage there in that office might howl, vociferate
and debate, eventually Braunschweig would get a
hearing.

"The quicker, the better," thought Murchison.
"Whatever he offers, I'll checkmate him. But let him
speak, at least!"

He raised his own hand; and, as his voice began to
sound, some measure of order returned.

"For this reason, if no other," he concluded, "we
must modify our first hasty judgment. This matter is
not national alone. It affects the whole civilized
world. No doubt the baron, here, brings some mes
sage from Europe which may perhaps help us solve
the imminent problem?"

Braunschweig nodded, and his smile broadened.

"My friends," said he, "gentlemen all," and shot one
quick glance at Wainwright, "I come with a message

264 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

of hope. With salvation, to speak so. No, jour
guards should not keep me out; you should not to ex
clude me. On the contrary, better you might open
all doors and invite me in ! For I, gentlemen, can save
you all. And will — should you so elect!"

He paused. From one to the other he looked, quiz
zically, with an intangible mockery that struck in
deeper than an open gibe.

"Go on, sir!" exclaimed Murchison, reddening.
"We Americans, I believe, can save ourselves, if salva
tion is necessary, without any foreign assistance.
But, nevertheless, continue. If you have any business
proposition to lay before this gathering, we're here to
listen to it. And if it's a good one, I reckon we can
take it up in one-two-three order. Kindly continue."

"I will. I speak to you of the great Gold Blight
which has come over the world. It has struck me, too,
gentlemen, hard, ah! terribly hard. Nevertheless, I
am hopeful. I have abandoned gold. I have turned
to silver as the means to save modern civilization. Do
you understand me?"

"My idea exactly, sir!" exclaimed somebody at the
back of the room.

"Another of these 16-to-l silver-basis fanatics!"
thought Wainwright, with a mental groan. "I thought
he really might have some kind of decent proposi
tion!"

"We must sink ourselves, personally, in this effort
to secure the world from destruction," continued
Braunschweig, still smiling. "Let this unknown
fanatic do his worst. Do not interfere with him. It
is as I wireless-telegraphed you, nicht wdhr?

THE GREAT JEW'S OFFER 265

"Let him do all what he wish to gold. Silver re
mains. If we get enough silver out in circulation in
the whole world to replace the gold, nothing much can
result."

"Nothing much?" cried the billionaire. "My God,
man! Do you know what's happened already?"

"Oh, yes, yes, of course, it will make some distur
bances, but no world-panic or overturning of civiliza
tion. Believe me, gentlemen, there is no other way.
Silver— that is all !"

"Yes, but," interposed Murchison, perplexed, "what
about it ? What do you offer ?"

He had expected some sort of deal, some vast pro
posal, some complex, far-reaching financial scheme.
This simple, obvious idea, containing only the merest
rudiments of A B C suggestion, disappointed him.

"What's your specific plan? Why have you crossed
the ocean at top speed to tell us this kindergarten
stuff?"

Braunschweig smiled again, more cynically than ever.

"Kindergarten, yes, I admit it," murmured he, "but,
after all, it is the practical application that has value.

"Gentlemen," and now his voice went a tone deeper,
his words fell more slowly, and his smile had vanished
quite, "gentlemen, I come not to you with empty words
or meaningless phrases. I come with cash, cash,
gentlemen, to help make good all your present or your
possible losses!"

A kind of communal gasp rose from the assemblage,
now silent and frozen to keen attention.

"Cash?" exclaimed Murchison, starting forward.
"What— what d'jou mean?"

266 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

"This!" And Braunschweig, thrusting a hand into
the pocket of his vast Kamchatkan sea-otter coat,
drew out two metal cubes.

One, small and yellow, resembled gold. The other,
larger far, shone with a silver hue.

"My friends," said the Jew, as though lecturing them
on some indifferent topic, "this smaller cube is brass.
I would have shown you gold, except for the unfortun
ate fact that, outside the national treasuries, none now
exists in Europe, America or on the high seas. I start
ed from Amsterdam with a cube of gold, of this size,
but in latitude 48° 27' North, longitude 31°, 12', 18"
West, it crumbled to ashes. So I had my chief engineer
make me this cube of brass to represent it, and help
me in my explanation.

"Imagine this, now, as pure gold. It would weigh
one ounce, and under normal conditions be worth
$20.673. The silver cube has the same value. Though
so greatly different in size, they are equal in purchasing
power — or were, before the Blight struck the world.

"Well, gentlemen, now that so much of the gold is
only ashes — "

A loud, persistent ringing of the telephone-bell on
the director's desk interrupted Braunschweig. He did
not even frown, but remained there, calm and easy,
waiting till the disturbance should have subsided before
attempting to finish.

"Hello, hello!" cried Campbell, his ear at the re
ceiver.

A voice, far off, yet slow and very distinct, came
over the wire:

"You've got only two minutes more ! I'm watching

THE GREAT JEW'S OFFER 267

the tower. If the white flag doesn't go up at 11:45
sharp, look out !"

Campbell, clutching at the instrument as though to
catch the man at the other end of the wire by the
throat, gasped:

"Hold on there! Wait! Let me—"

But the voice said : "Nothing to discuss. No argu
ment. I demand unconditional surrender. Good-by !"

Then came the click of Storm hanging up his re
ceiver.

Campbell, chalky, whirled round and faced the silent
gathering.

"He— he— the Blight—!"

"What?" snarled Wainwright, with a curse. "He's
on the wire? Here! Don't let him go, damn him!
Don't—!"

Already Murchison had sprung toward the desk, his
hand quivering with eagerness, his face the color of
old wax.

"He's gone !" cried Campbell. "No use !"

"Gone?" shrilled Murchison. "What did he say?"

"He said that — in two minutes, if you don't yield —
he'll strike the government gold!"

Tumult burst forth; but the great Jew, pushing his
way to the desk, banged on it with his cube of silver.

"Silence, I beg of you, my friends!" pleaded he.
"Only hear me, now! Why yourselves alarm, need
lessly? Why be excited?"

"Why?" bellowed the copper czar. "This maniac is
going to blight the national reserve of the United
States, in a couple of minutes, and you — you ask — ?"

Words failed him. His face grew purple and his

268 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

bull-neck swelled with rage as he glared at the impas
sive Braunschweig.

"It makes nothing," declared the Jewish financier,
calmly. "Let him do as he pleases. That does not
invalidate mj offer, my cash offer! See, now, I con
tinue as before. I still save the situation!"

He paused. Silence now held the assembly, silence
broken only by the heavy breathing of Wainwright and
the billionaire, and by the fateful ticking of the clock,
each second bringing catastrophe nearer, nearer still.

"You save it, eh?" suddenly sneered Murchison.
"Well, how? See here, Graf, if you've got anything
up your sleeve, trot it out, almighty sudden. For I
reckon we are standing on the edge of a volcano, this
very minute !"

"No, no, not so bad as you think it," Braunschweig
reassured him. He destroys the national gold, as
he has destroyed the private? Very well. I buy the
ashes, ja! I, Maximilian Braunschweig — I purchase
all you bring me, from everywhere, paying silver !"

"Eh? What?" cried Murchison, gripping the back
of a chair, to steady himself.

"My yacht, Der Sieger, on which I have just arrived,
now lies at a pier in the East River. Do you know
what it is ballasted with? Silver! A six-thousand-ton
ship, gentlemen — and not one pound of rock or water
ballast."

Dead silence muted every breath. Every eye stared
at this amazing man, who only smiled benignly as in
simple words, as though passing the time of day, he
told them the news incredible.

"Silver coin, my friends, kroner, thaler, francs, lire,

THE GREAT JEW'S OFFER 269

all kinds, from Germany, Holland, Belgium and
Luxembourg. And silver bars, also. Bullion! AcU9
ja! Tons of silver bars !"

He paused a moment and looked slowly round at the
dumb-stricken money-ghouls.

The clock already pointed at 11 :45.

Then said he:

"In the ratio of five to one I buy. One pound of
ashes, five pounds of silver. No theoretical deals,
gentlemen; no speculative trading. The actual, physi
cal, cash purchase! Do you understand me?

"I weigh out five pounds of silver; you give me one
pound of gold-ash. So! Simple, yes; but it saves
you all. You lose something, I admit, but not every
thing. The monetary system changes. But business
continues. Civilization goes on, and the supremacy
of capital! I buy! If I have not silver enough here,
I bring more. I buy! Do you hear me, gentlemen?"

Again a disturbance interrupted the Jewish finan
cier's harangue.

At the door a violent pounding was heard.

"Open! Open!" cried terrified voices.

Somebody flung back the door.

In staggered a gray-bearded man in blue uniform
and official cap — one of the Sub-Treasury assistants.
High in his trembling hand he shook a canvas bag.

Flaccid and loose it waved in air.

"Oh, my God!" sobbed he; and tears rained down
his wrinkled, anguished face.

Murchison gripped his arm, while Wainwright shout
ed some hoarse, unintelligible thing and the others afl
came crowding.

270 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

"What — what now?" demanded the billionaire, shak
ing the employee with frenzy.

"Look!" gasped the man.

He twitched the binding string of the canvas bag.

"They're all like that !" cried he. "The vaults— are
empty — now !"

And out in a fine, trickling stream on Campbell's
desk he poured a stream of that same hideous, gray,
metallic dust.

"The Blight!" gulped he, and — his arms outflung —
fell fainting on the heap of ruin.

CHAPTER XXXI

THE GEEAT SPECULATION

THUS began that incredible, wild epoch of gold-ash
speculation. That period of a new, never till then
dreamed of, commerce, which for a brief time revivi
fied the dying System, as a guttering lamp-flame will
flare and flicker high just before the final black.

Thus was exhaled that expiring, febrile gasp of cap
italism, which, like a moribund treated with oxygen or
galvanism, seems to take on new life — but onlv seems !

The white flag did not wave over the Metropolitan
Tower.

Braunschweig's entry into the situation instantly
checked all thought of capitulation.

Even before the Sub-Treasury meeting broke up,
that point was settled. No surrender! The Graf's
offer of silver for gold-ash rendered possible a volte-
face movement on the part of all hesitants.

"Fight !" now the watchword became. And "Fight !"
alone.

"Let Storm do his worst — it will cause only a
temporary disturbance," said the gold-jackals.
"Silver can replace gold without necessarily wrecking
the System. And, above all, the 1,200 tons of national-
reserve gold still in Washington are as yet untouched.

We still live !"

271

272 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

Buried in the deepest vaults, with heavy lead-foil
wrappings, then layers of isinglass and still more "ray-
shields" of a secret composition, the final redoubt of
the System still lay intact.

Even though all the outworks had been successively
taken and destroyed, this yet resisted. Storm had not
yet succeeded in reducing it to dust. Not yet had he
mastered the combination which would pierce these mas
sive, mysterious shields.

Nor had the government been able, yet, to lay hands
on its tormentor. Acting on Murchison's information,
Secret Service men had drawn their drag-net all across
the locality where the electrocuted man had been found
in the alley; but Storm had not been found. Once
more he had flitted; and so skilful, so secret had been
his going and his re-establishment in some other nook
or cranny of the great metropolis, that every clue had
failed and every trail led only to a cul de sac.

Thus, from some darkly hidden den, he still was
flinging out his rays of gold-destruction. But a check,
at last, had been put upon his activities. Even though
all the outworks of Capitalism had at last been suc
cessively taken and destroyed, a few nuclei of gold still
defied him.

Beside the ultimate 1,200 tons in the National Treas
ury, some of the European war-hoards and a few in
Asia still existed — such as the hidden and fabled Man-
chu loot of 100,000,000 taels, the Sublime Forte's
2,500,000,000 piasters, the Ameer of Gond's 4,000 lakhs
of rupees and some others.

But, so far as could be discovered, every other known
bit of yellow metal on earth, whether in the form of

THE GREAT SPECULATION 273

coins, jewelry, ore, or what not, had now been swept
into seeming oblivion.

And the ash began to come to Braunschweig in en
velopes, in buckskin bags, in metal and wooden boxes,
in barrels, in vans and trucks and car-load lots.

The United States government sold to him. Mur-
chison sold, and Wainwright, and Baker, and all the
capitalists, big, little or medium. Foreign govern
ments began selling. Russia and Japan vied with each
other in unloading ash. France and Germany for once
were in accord, in accepting his world-wide offer, which
had been cabled everywhere and in divers languages had
been posted in every bank, bourse, exchange and gov
ernment-finance office in the world. As with a uni
versal besom, the Jew swept the world's gold-ash into
his coffers.

Banks everywhere tumbled over each other in their
eagerness to unload; trust companies forwarded their
wreckage by special armed messengers — and fights took
place in the public streets of the cities for ash.

Ash, from being worthless, instantly became highly
valuable. Men now regretted having tossed it away.
Drawers were rummaged, floors swept, catch-basins
and plumbing dredged, houses turned topsy-turvy to
recover it. And another tremendous wave of disturb
ance, greater even than the first crest of destruction,
swept the world.

For Braunschweig's operations were world-wide.

The news of his offer was not five minutes old before
it was flashing from Labrador to San Antonio, from
the Yukon Valley to Punta Arenas, from Lisbon to
Vladivostok, from Tokyo to Petrograd. All round

274 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

the world and back again, up and down the map, radiat
ing from every city to all towns and villages, to every
hamlet, to every house and farm and mining-camp and
ranch — everywhere, without exception, over the whole
surface of the civilized and even much of the barbarous
world — it thrilled and quivered: "Silver for your
ash!"

The Jewish banker's silver supply seemed as inex
haustible as the inpouring floods of ash. His series
of operations covered the entire earth. On the very
afternoon of his arrival in New York, less than an
hour after his interview with the startled bankers in
the Sub-Treasury, he gave the order for the opening
of a huge suite of offices in the Woolworth Building.
At the same moment, a vast series of similar offices
opened in every city in the world with more than 100,-
000 population.

These offices, already arranged for in America
through his agents, Konig & Breitenbach, and in
Europe, Asia, Africa and Australia through his cor
related banking-houses, all threw open their doors
simultaneously, for the sole, exclusive purpose of buy
ing gold-ash. The Dai Nippon Ginko handled the busi
ness in Japan and China. India, Arabia, the west
coast of Africa, Siam and the Straits Settlements were
covered by the Jhejeeboy's Banking System. The
Russian Empire sold through Kadnikof Brothers, while
Australia dealt with the firm of McDowell & Hargison.

A map of the world, showing each of these singular
financial nuclei, was hung in the Graf's private office on
the thirty-sixth story of the Woolworth Building.
Every branch-office was marked by a red dot. The

THE GREAT SPECULATION 275

world seemed to have suddenly developed an exaggerat
ed case of small-pox, on a cosmic scale.

Estimates place their number in the entire world
(though the Graf refused to affirm or deny this num
ber) at some 30,000. There may have been more —
perhaps as many as 35,000, all told, inasmuch as a
good many branches were in a few days opened in towns
even smaller than the 100,000 limit. In North America
alone, not including Mexico, which had 654, Braun
schweig established 7,328.

At each of these branches, whether located on the
Russian tundra, in Chile or Bolivia, in Texas or New
foundland, the Jewish baron's duly qualified agents
either paid out, by weight, the actual silver coin or
bullion for the gold-ash, in the ratio of five pounds of
silver to one pound of ash; or else, in case the seller
preferred, they gave silver certificates of Braun
schweig's own issue.

No government interfered in this arrogation of the
money-issuing power, for every government felt itself
tottering over an abyss. At any moment the last and
greatest hoards of gold, in national hands, might
crumble, At any second, Storm in his hiding-place
might readjust his mechanism, find the proper wave
length or combination of lengths, and smash the final
treasure. And what then?

Braunschweig had become, to the capitalist class as
a whole, the figure of a universal redeemer; and from
reviling him, the press and pulpit, the universities and
great public agencies of information began to laud him
to the zenith and to couple his name with those of the
world's illustrious benefactors.

276 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

Such was the will of the capitalist class; and that
will, now as always, twitched the puppet-strings of
state and church, newspaper and college.

Murchison raged secretly, immured at Edgecliff with
his shrunken but still enormous fortune in silver and in
industrial holdings. Yet he held his peace — and
waited.

Revenge, he felt, might still come to his hand. Not
more savage were his thoughts against John Storm than
against the Graf, his rival, now dominating all. Even
the fact that Braunschweig had kept him from being
utterly wiped out in a universal bankruptcy where
mines and railways, oil-wells and trust bonds alike
would have collapsed, could not soften the billionaire's
heart against "that damned pig of a Jew," as he still
thought of him.

Never could he forgive the fact that Braunschweig
had dictated to him, had displaced him in the world's
eye, had played the game better and harder than he
himself. Murchison forgot to hate John Storm in
hating Braunschweig. An overpowering fear of the
Jew, also, grew upon him.

"For Heaven's sake, what's his motive?" wondered
he, pacing the library floor. "The man may be mad,
but he's not a driveling idiot. And he's parting with
silver, solid silver or its equivalent in certificates !
What for? For worthless ash! My God, why?"

Why, indeed?

Murchison thirsted for the answer, as never in his
whole long life of loot and ravagement had he desired
anything. Had he but been able to solve this riddle,
he felt he might still outplay the Graf, might still take

THE GREAT SPECULATION 277

vengeance on him and overthrow him. But, lacking
the key, the problem presented to him only a blank,
insoluble face. And so he frayed his nerves, in vain,
clutching at hypothesis after hypothesis, but finding
none more stable than ropes of sand.

The question drove Murchison right to the doors of
insanity. It haunted, lashed and tortured him till his
brain reeled; but answer came there none. Yet, all
this time — as the papers told Murchison and as his
brokers kept him well-informed — Braunschweig kept
silently, methodically, persistently buying ash.

Presently — whereat Murchison's hate and rage were
supplemented by a consuming fear — the Graf began
purchasing not only the ash itself, but also properly
certified ash-certificates, representing the existence of a
certain quantity of ash of specified fineness.

His action inevitably led others to imitate him. Not
that anybody understood; but many felt that, if the
Jewish banker foresaw something, this something must
be of tremendous importance.

So rose the strangest speculative tide ever known
in the history of the world, bar none — the Gold-Ash
Speculation.

Murchison was not drawn into this huge maelstrom.
Neither was Wainwright. Both held aloof. But
Baker, in secret, through his brokers, took a fling at it ;
and so did scores of others, the biggest names in the
financial "Who's Who."

Every bourse and stock-exchange in the world, from
San Francisco to Tokyo, and right round through
Vienna, Paris, Berlin, and London, to New York, began
to handle Gold-ash, common or preferred.

278 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

Financiers of every race, color, creed and language
plunged into this new gamble. What remnants of
manufacturing and commerce had been left now stood
in danger of being swept wholly away on the flood-tide
of this fresh madness.

Everywhere business died. Unemployed millions
began to swarm, to starve, to riot everywhere. They
could not strike, for now there were no jobs. Vast
forays began — lootings for actual food, reminding one
of Hanseatic days, Crusading times, the earlier incur
sions of the Goths and Vandals into Roman civilization,
or even the ravishment of the territories occupied by
the Germans in the Pan-European War. And in the
resultant disorders throughout the world, the military
forces more often than not turned against their
masters.

Strange tales drifted in from here, from there ; tales
that reduced the French revolution jacqueries to
child's-play ; that brought the Russian revolution of
1905 down to the proportions of a mere riot.

History does not record that epoch clearly ; those
days have all but escaped it. Only its larger outlines
are plain — here a dynasty crumbling, there a republic
founded on the blazing pyre of an age-long monarchy,
yonder an aristocracy wiped out in blood. The record
was all blurred, distorted and unreal. Every news
service was totally disorganized. Battles were fought,
barricades defended and taken by storm, aerial attacks
delivered against rebellious provinces and cities, massa
cres perpetrated — and History hardly wrote even the
dates, on her mutilated tablets. The world was deaf
and blind, now, to everything but Ash, Ash, Ash!

THE GREAT SPECULATION 279

Headlines, editorials, market-quotations, all hung on
Ash. Governments stood or fell, by the power of Ash.
The world revolved for Ash, alone.

Madness reigned, indeed.

Everywhere, now — forgetting politics, social life,
family, friends, organization of all kinds — men were
frantically speculating in Ash. Everywhere they were
buying and selling it, outright, short, or on margin;
dealing in gold-ash as they one time had dealt in the
fictitious, watered values of oil, or coal, or railways —
only now with a fierce abandon that cast utterly into
the shade all previous speculative movements in the
world's history.

A whole special sheaf of technical papers, devoted
to Ash, sprouted up like mushrooms. Ash-assay
offices burgeoned everywhere; and fortunes were made
(in silver) by scientific men — charlatans, some — who
could analyze and pass judgment on the fineness of the
material ; or who could make pretense of doing so.

Inside of a few days an enormous Ash Conspiracy de
veloped, for the production and sale of spurious dust.
Many financiers and not a few formerly expert counter
feiters, chemists and scientists were involved in this.
More than thirty-five were arrested, in America and
Europe ; and in the height of public passion, nearly all
were railroaded for long sentences.

A man named Warren F. Hazelton was lynched, in
Pittsburgh, merely on suspicion of having manufactured
imitation Ash. Judicial, social, economic and financial
anarchy reared its snarling head.

The holiday season passed unnoticed, for the first
time in the history of civilization. As well try to ob-

280 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

serve Christmas, at such a time, as to make merry on a
water-logged raft in mid- Atlantic gales.

Quick-shifting, elusive pools were formed, to make
some pretense of fighting Braunschweig and his chain
of purchasing offices; but so bitterly was each man at
his neighbor's throat, that little concerted action was
possible.

Yet, for a while, buyers were secretly sent out, post
haste, both in the Old World and the New; sent even
to the uttermost highways and hedges, to root out
more and still more of the precious stuff.

No village, no hamlet was too insignificant to be
overlooked, whether by these agents or by the Graf's.
Alike the whiskered farmer on the shores of Lake Cham-
plain; the lumber-jack in his mackinaw among the
spruce and fir of Mount Katahdin ; the high-booted
moujik in his Siberian mir; the Bengali ryot among his
rice-paddies ; the Zufii patriarch ; the Bolivian muleteer ;
the priest, the bar-keep, the bishop, the prostitute — all
were approached by these ubiquitous agents, eager to
buy even a pinch of dust that represented perhaps the
sole family bit of jewelry, the wedding-ring, the anklet,
the nose-pendant, the cross of military honor or the
sacred amulet or scapulary — no matter what.

And thus, swept in by uncounted thousands of eager
searchers, the Ash accumulated. Thus the world,
seemingly gone mad, scrabbled on the ash-heap of the
vanished gold that once had been master of all.

Scandals sprang up apace; Ash deals, beside which
the Credit Mobilier, the United States Bank fraud, the
South Sea Island Bubble, and all past speculative or
legislative frauds were as mere nothings.

THE GREAT SPECULATION 281

Law vanished. Greed and might and the baseness
of the human heart lusting for sudden, unearned
wealth, ruled supreme. Save for the Social-Philoso
phers, who then numbered hardly more than 50,000,000
in the world, few men were wholly sane, those days.

Yet the great Jew, calmly smiling, patriarchal still,
— unheeding the torrents of praise and adulation as
also the floods of violent and abusive letters that poured
in on him and the many fanatics who sought to take his
life — sat in his heavily guarded inner offices on Broad
way, quietly, patiently, systematically gathering in
what others culled and reaped for him, what others
sought and travailed and died for — in their own inter
est, as they thought, but truly in his.

For to him the world-wide game now fighting itself
out confusedly to some vast, vague issue, was as moth
er's milk to the lips of a babe. Though with the un
loading of silver its value dropped ; and though Ash
mounted as its speculative worth leaped up, yet he re
mained unfaltering.

His coffers gaped wide open; his incalculable silver
supply swirled out like water through the penstocks
at Niagara. He only smiled, and waited.

With the astute skill of a master, he swept the
strings of the world-harp; and the harmonies wove
themselves higher, fuller, day by day — they crystallized
in the form of a strange treasure-heap, a bursting,
overflowing mountain of seeming nothingness, such as,
since time was, the world had never seen — a hoard of
dust, of ashes !

Load by load, after it had been assayed and sorted
and packed in specially prepared buckskin bags,

282 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

Braunschweig shipped it to Washington by special
trains, with his own guards, heavily armed, in attend
ance.

For at Washington existed the only zone of actual
order and safety now to be found in the entire United
States. Elsewhere, danger threatened at all times.
In the Federal District, at least, some semblance of rule
still persisted.

Since the Jew at last, in his own person, absolutely
dominated the world governments — even banding to
gether as they now were into a Weltverein — he de
manded and secured the right to store this hoard in
the vast, unused subcellars under the north wing of
the Treasury Building and under a portion of the
center.

Here, day by day, the Ash accumulated.

And under the arches, dim lit with dusty incan-
descents, toiling figures patiently stacked tiers on
tiers, massive shelves upon shelves, of bags of ash
gathered from Nome to Coolgardie, from Yokohama to
Quebec.

Thus, hour by hour, Fate drew her snares.

Thus she meshed the cords and twined the net about
her victims, blindty, impersonally, inexorably.

Thus "the moving finger writ."

Yet all these days of madness John Storm remained
both calm and full of sober, contemplative foresight.

Safely and undiscoverably hidden in an obscure nook
far over on Avenue A, on the East Side, master of the
world yet dwelling in a noisome slum, unnoticed and
unknown, he waited.

THE GREAT SPECULATION 283

Forgotten now was he — almost forgotten even by the
Triumvirate and those who shared their knowledge, in
that huge, indrawing, vortical madness which consti
tuted the last days.

If Murchison and Wainwright and the others now
thought of him at all, it was but as an arriere-pensee, a
somewhat blurred memory, no longer to be reckoned
with. He seemed to have done his worst. True, he
had wrecked the former status of the world; yet they
had not capitulated. No surrender had been given.
Tumult and chaos reigned; all standards save that of
Ash had gone by the board ; yet the System might still
emerge triumphant. And those who knew, at times
even sneered in their hearts at this mad dreamer and
wild visionary. Sore-wounded themselves, they still
triumphed — when they recalled the man, at all — in the
belief that his last bolt was sped, his last trump played,
and lost !

Insane with fear and the mania of gold-ash specula
tion, the public forgot even its unanswered wonder as
to the cause of the Blight. Safer, more secure than
an anchorite in a cell, Storm prepared the formula
and worked out the complex diagrams, the combina
tions and permutations of Hertzian, cathode, N and
Z rays for his final blow.

Between times he studied his periscope for some sign
of the white flag ; or carried forward still another re
action in his experiments on atmospheric nitrogen; or
again read the disjointed papers with their screaming
falsehoods, smoked his pipe and dreamed of the un
attainable Mindanaos.

On one of the last nights before he hoped to loosen

284 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

the supreme blow, he came upon a few brief paragraphs
in "The Coming Nation."

These he reread minutely, then clipped and pasted
Lthem< on manila paper, ready for filing.

"Sometime," mused he, "the world as a whole will
realize their truth. Sometime these ideas, which are
my own, too, will dominate. Sometime — after I shall
have swept away the final remnants of the curse of
gold!"

A moment he gazed at them.

"Here, at last, is truth!" said he, and slowly read
aloud as though to sense the full import of the words:

All this war-madness because some gentlemen who make guns
and ships happen to need the money? No, not quite all. Back
of them, and of the rest of the bloodthirsty nonsense is another
and greater fact, compelling all and directing all.

Back of the whole mad story is the tremendous fact of an
unconsumed surplus of goods, under capitalism; a surplus that,
recognized or unrecognized, pushes the nations along steadily
to war.

What shall the capitalists do with their mass of products that
yearly mounts upon them? Something, of course, is achieved
when we build a battle-ship, because that is worthless in ten
years, and therefore deteriorates at the rate of $1,000,000 every
twelve months. Something is gained when we compel China to
take a loan she does not want and cannot use, for that provides
additional bonds for our banking system and helps out the im
periled balance of trade. But these are no more than palliatives.
Still the surplus of goods mounts. Nothing but war will really
keep it down.

Therefore, being civilized people and highly intelligent, us for
the battle-field!

Storm paused a little, to think. Then he nodded.

"H-m !" remarked he. " 'Civilized ! Highly intelli
gent!' — not! But there's hope still, lots of hope. I
can save man from murder, even in spite of his own

THE GREAT SPECULATION 285

brutishness. Yes, eren though I now make thousands
suffer or even die, in the end I shall save millions un
counted and regenerate the world. I can — I will!"
He read again :

If we kill enougk of one another, we can dodge that surplus
problem for a time, anyway. In a world where the majority of
the inhabitants lire in destitution, want, and misery, there exists
such a surplus of the unconsumed products of industry that it
is necessary to go to war to get the surplus out of the way, or
to find markets for it.

How is that for an example of sanity?

Most of the nations producing more than, under the existing
system, their people are able to purchase; all of the nations
filled with vast populations that need these things and cannot
get them; and then war, to force new markets and break in new
dumping-grounds !

There are more than 5,000 lunatics on Ward's Island, New
York, and the maddest fantasy ever entertained by the maddest
of them, seems by comparison the essence of mental health.

A huge unconsumed surplus in the face of the destitution, want,
and misery of the majority of the inhabitants — see if you can
match that for preposterous absurdity.

The things we need, piled in a mass on one side; and the
people who need them, gathered on the other; and between these
the men who profit by this condition, planning war, so that the
evil may be continued and may not break down.

This is the basis and mainspring and life of the existing
system. How much longer shall we be fooled by it?

With a glad laugh, Storm threw down the clipping
and reached for his tobacco.

"How much longer?" repeated he. "Not long, now
—not long! Man shall at last be free; intellect shall
rule ; gold perish — and my work be done !

"Not long, now, not long — thank God!"

CHAPTER XXXII

THE ATTACK ON WASHINGTON

THE great white banner of submission did not wave
from the tower next day, nor yet the next.

Though Storm waited patiently, even hopefully, he
saw no signs of capitulation.

All that he observed was a progressive growth of
license and anarchy, which even the now tremendously
strong and growing social-philosophical influence was
unable to do more than check; a still further develop
ment of greed and force and fraud; a tremendous
efflorescence of the Ash gambling mania, a general drift
of the country and the Weltverein-governed world as a
whole, toward — what?

"Toward some abyss, certainly, whence I see no
issue," he reflected. "None, unless I succeed at once,
now, and utterly destroy the idea of gold in the minds
of men. Superficially considered, I seem to have done
nothing but botch matters in an extraordinary fashion.
Suicides and disorders, violence and crime can certainly
be laid at my door. On the surface, it's disheartening,
very!

"But, viewed with a deeper insight, all is different.
The surgeon's knife makes a terrifying wound. Blood
flows. The patient seems infinitely worse off than be
fore the operation began. But in reality, he's saved.

286

ATTACK ON WASHINGTON 287

The cancerous growth is gone. And when all is over,
he faces life, not death!

"Thus I'm justified. Thus all the blood and tears
and anguish of this time are made parts of the general
upward trend toward health. Thus, by one incisive
cut, I can yet end the long phlebotomy of war. And
when the tally is cast up, all the woe and death that I
have brought into the world won't equal those of a
single battle of a single capitalist war.

"The last blow must fall," said he. "I will hit, hard,
this time ! Let the world rave. Let Braunschweig buy
and buy and buy, if he will. Nothing will avail, to
stand against me, once the final hoards are gone.

"It must come now, at once! The final, smashing
blow must be delivered !"

His final adjustments were made with a skill and care
which, he felt positive, must bring success.

That night, John Storm went to Washington. Dis
guised as a laborer in worn, patched clothing, he took
the midnight express from the Pennsylvania Depot
where now so little traffic trickled through the once-
crowded sluiceways of travel. In a corner of the smok
ing car he ensconced himself with an old pipe, for the
long, weary vigil. None noticed him. None knew or
suspected that the man whose picture and description
had long been printed in every paper, with a Blacker-
ton reward-offer of $250,000 for his apprehension-
charge not stated — now sat there with his hat pulled
down over his disguised face, in the swift steel car.

Thus Storm, master of the world's gold, traveled to
the nation's heart, bent on an errand, which should
either free the world or end his own hard strivings.

288 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

Well-informed observers state that the first outward
sign of the attack on Washington, the morning of Wed
nesday, January first, was given by the dulling of the
golden cap of the Liberty statue, on top of the great
Capitol dome.

The news of this portent, running like flame through
magnesium-powder, swiftly brought together a tremen
dous concourse, that soon filled the open areas about
the huge building, packed the streets and parks,
and crammed every roof and window that commanded a
view of the structure.

Silent, awed now with a sense of impending national
ruin, the people watched and waited. No rioting this
day, no fights, no speculation for the time being.

The nation's heart, they felt, was being invaded by
the swift-striking, unknown, irresistible venom of the
Blight. And thousands, as by an instinctive impulse,
bared their heads in the raw, chill December morn
ing air.

In full sight of these innumerable watchers, a simple,
rough, grimy-handed steeple-jack, Barker Fimerson
by name — history will long take cognizance of him —
climbed out through one of the eastern windows of that
magnificent dome raised by the genius of Major
L'Enfant; and by a deft use of slings, ropes and
tackles, scaled the statue itself.

His inspection was long and very careful. After he
had finished it, he managed to scrawl his report on a
sheet of paper.

This he rolled into a ball. He hurled it far out
on to the stiff breeze blowing at that hour, eleven
o'clock, up the valley of the Potomac.

ATTACK ON WASHINGTON 289

The ball fell, whirling, flickering, in a vast arc.

Numbed into silence, the vast assembly watched it
drop. There was no crowding, no jostling or quarrel
ing to snatch at it; yet many hands sprouted in air,
where it fell.

It was caught by a postal-clerk named Dudley
Bucknam.

In his ague of eagerness, trying to unroll it, he tore
the paper in two.

Somebody grabbed one half.

"Read ! Read it !" cried unnumbered voices.

Bucknam was unable to decipher it.

It had been written in such a cramped attitude that
it was almost illegible. The missing part, too, was
vital to the meaning.

"Here, let me see !" shouted a thin, gray-whiskered
man, eagerly forcing his way through the press. "I'm
foreign clerk of the Dead Letter Office. I can read
anything — any hand."

Bucknam relinquished his part of the paper.

"Here !" cried a voice. The other half came handed
in to the clerk.

Now somewhat jostled about, he nevertheless man
aged to fit the halves together. For a minute he stud
ied. Then with a strange and troubled look upon his
paling face, he read:

"It's all off! Liberty has lost her gold cap. Noth
ing up here, now, but gray scale. The finish is com-
ing!"

As a whisper, fine and tense, the news spread out.
Men dared not speak aloud at first.

The whisper strengthened to a murmur; it spread

290 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

faster, louder now; it became a vast, confused, incho-.-
ate welter of sound; it rose to a roar, a bellow — it
swelled to heaven as a gigantic cataract of sound!

Before the steeple-jack had had time even to descendl
to the base of the heroic statue, three hundred feet in
mid air, the news had flashed through those massed hun
dreds of thousands, had been flicked on to the wires and!
darted to every corner of the land — even flung across^
the Atlantic:

"The Capitol lias been attacked! The Statue of
Liberty has lost her golden cap. The end is at hand!""

Murchison, who for eight and forty hours had beeni
in Washington, striving in vain to check the power of
Braunschweig, heard it in his temporary offices in the''
Monadnock Building. Heard it, and peered out ini
sudden apprehension, out over the massed thousands,,
all stricken with keen terror and confusion.

He ordered his motor and hastened to the Treasury*
Building, his mind a welter of fear and rage, with the>-
sweat of anguish pearling his wrinkled forehead.

Five minutes later, while the multitude still stood 1
rooted there, groaning, weeping, praying, many withi
suppliant hands raised to what they knew not, the1
President received a telegram:

This he immediately made public, as being in the1
nature of an emergency measure. At once the wires of
the now thoroughly sensationalized International Press*
Combine grew hot with the message :

At noon, sharp, unless a white flag rises over the War De--
partment Building, the final blow will fall. This flag must fly ,

ATTACK ON WASHINGTON 291

as the symbol of submission on the part of the universal
Weltverein government. I am now in Washington. At the
,proper moment I shall appear. Meanwhile, I warn you to take
limmediate action. Time is short. To save themselves now, the
powers must cede at once! JOHN STORM.

This was the news that Baker thrust into Murchi-
| son's hands, the minute they met. This was the news
Ithat, hastily 'phoned, now brought together a swift,
! half -defiant, half panic-stricken gathering of the world-
j financiers, the government chiefs, foreign bankers,
diplomatists and representatives and accredited Welt
verein officials in the Treasury Building.

Never before in the history of the world had so many
eminent men of such diversity of race and tongue, so
hastily met together. With gold at stake, they stood
not for ceremony, precedence or diplomatic poppycock.

Braunschweig was there, still serene and (if any
thing) more confident than ever. The apoplectic face
of Wainwright contrasted with the old-ivory features
of Baron Iwami, now again decorated with the Order
of the Rising Sun, this time done in silver. The an
tithesis seemed to typify the cosmopolitan character of
this, the strangest gathering of the System's chiefs,
lackeys and retainers ever known in the history of the
world.

Cosmopolitan indeed; for during the past fortnight
a drift had been taking place from Japan and China,
from all over Europe, from South America and Mex
ico — a drift of controlling world-forces, or, rather, of
the men who once had saddled, bridled and ridden
the world, but who now were merely being carried,
Mazeppa-like, to their doom.

292 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

This drift had set in strongly toward Washington...
The city, as capital of the Weltverein, naturally had!
attracted the flow.

Now, in the great assembly-hall, plutocrats froma
East, from West, from distant lands and near, were>
coining together with that instinctive rassemblement
which draws the threatened wolf-pack close, or herds at
fear-stricken bunch of steers, with lowered horns, upon
the midnight prairie.

Strange faces were those on which the morning light!
dulled by the long curtains of yellow silk, cast its soft
ened glow. Strange faces, oddly variant complexions,,
divers tongues and a weird melange of uniforms, frock I
coats, decorations (none, however, of gold) and mili
tary tunics.

Few words were uttered. Those spoken were brief,1

Men whispered. Gentile, Jew, white-skinned Danish!
financier and swart Levantine banker, trust magnate i
and Rand nabob, now despoiled of his still undug;
wealth, Chinese bond-holder and Argentine speculator.!
Russian grand-duke and British lord — ail these and<
scores of others, unlike in everything save the one all-l
compelling lust for gold, the worship of the power ofe
gold, the blighting terror of the loss of gold, stood<
about uneasily; trod the thick rugs with catlike, noise-1-
less steps ; grouped and regathered and fell away fromn
one another, with hard, bitter, suspicious glances anci
curt sneers.

The air hung dead, heavy, oppressive. Like a fui
neral chamber the place was — the funeral of the hoan
cruel, wolfish System, the burial-place of Gold.

Dully, with muffled cadences, they heard the awe

ATTACK ON WASHINGTON 293

and yet continuous movements of the massed throngs
outside. It seemed as though the world-pulse now
was centered there in Washington, there in that Treas
ury Building, that very chamber ; and on its next throb
hung the destinies of nations.

Sounded, all at once, the sharp tap-tap-tap of a
gavel.

"Gentlemen !" exclaimed, from the rostrum, Stanley
M. Whitney, presiding officer and Secretary of the
Treasury.

At sound of his deep, grave voice, papers rustled;
chairs moved, men sat down.

Silence fell. The tension grew acute.

This, on a larger scale, recalled that other scene in
the Sub-treasury in Wall Street. Braunschweig, re
membering it, smiled darkly to himself.

He alone remained unmoved.

He only, saturnine, titanic, calm, watched the assem
bly with his broad-browed gaze ; and as he watched, he
fingered his great beard and smiled.

CHAPTER XXXIII

0

THE FLAYING OF THE WOLVES

THEY waited, eager now for Whitney to speak. But,
even as the first words rose to his lips, a stir took place
at the rear of the hall.

It opened, closed again and once more opened, vigor
ously.

"Order !" shouted Whitney, in vain.

Confused words floated to them; then the sound of
footsteps.

Those who craned their necks beheld a page, startled
and capless, hurrying down the long aisle.

He reached the rostrum, ran up the steps, and — in
eager haste — whispered some inaudible words to Whit
ney.

"What?" exclaimed the Secretary. "There's a —
but — no, no ! He can't come in here, I tell you ! Im
possible!"

He stared, as though the mere thought of what the
page had told him reversed all precedents and outraged
every principle.

Again the page spoke, eagerly. But Whitney only
shook his head once more.

"You go back and tell him this is a private, official
conference. No unauthorized person can even come in,

much less address the gathering! And if he makes

294

FLAYING OF THE WOLVES 295

any trouble or raises any disturbance, call a guard !"

The page bowed and turned to obey; but already,
there in the aisle, a tall and vigorous figure of a man
was standing, near the door.

This man smiled slightly as the page, with a startled
cry, a leveled index-finger, shrilled:

"Why, there he is now, sir ! There ! He's in already !"

Before Whitney could even adjust his glasses, the
man was striding up the aisle toward the rostrum.

Edouard de Sallier, the French ambassador, started
toward him with an upraised, repelling hand. The
stranger only waved him away.

At his look, at sight of the slow, deep fire that burned
in his eyes, the Frenchman paled suddenly and fell
back.

Murchison sprang up, pointing a tremulous finger,
his face bone-white.

"There — there he is! There — Storm! Look—
that's the man — there! My God! Catch him! Ar
rest that man!"

The billionaire, overwrought, staggered and sank
gasping into his chair.

"Order!"

"Two hundred and fifty thousand reward for him —
and he walks in here like — like — "

"Like a free man, at your service !" said John Storm,
facing them all.

Wainwright leaped up, with a blasphemy. Bull-like,
in purple rage, he surged forward. Toward Storm he
ploughed his way, elbowing diplomatists and financiers
right and left. With raised fist he menaced.

Murchison screamed, quite overwrought :

296 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

"Look! That's the man, there ! My God! Some
body grab him, quick!"

Angry men of half a dozen races, not yet understand
ing, but furious at disturbance in this crucial moment,
pulled Wainwright back.

"How the devil could he get — get here, without being
pinched?" roared the copper czar. Strong hands
forced him to a chair.

Bubbling oaths and passion* as a stirred-up lobster
bubbles foam, the copper czar was forcibly suppressed.
The gavel, broken in Whitney's hand, still flailed the
desk.

A babel rose, a tumult of many tongues, rendering all
speech valueless. Storm gestured eloquently at his
rough, patched clothes — the clothes of a laborer — and
from his pocket drew a workman's cap.

With a contemptuous smile, he held this aloft.

Some degree of silence fell.

"Ach!" exclaimed Braunschweig, laughing. "So you
have deceived them all? They were looking for a good
coat and for linen, eh? I felicitate you, Storm!"

The scientist paused, folded his arms and for a mo
ment looked the German full in the face. Their eyes
met and struck fire, as in a rapier-duel of two souls.

"I thank you, Braunschweig!" Storm finally an
swered. "By heaven, I'm glad to see you !"

"The compliment is returned, with interest," said
the Graf, with real sincerity. "I truly felicitate you,
John Storm, for what you have done. Not because of
its motive, but because of your infernal intelligence!"

"Not second to your own," Storm returned. "You
are a man! Gad, what a brain! Braunschweig, you

FLAYING OF THE WOLVES 297

have seen a million miles farther than all the rest of the
world put together. Eeside you, these purblind money-
grubbers here have been so many moles and bats. You
have imagination — vision — insight — understanding.
They have been blind. But you — you know!

"Braunschweig, even though you're on the wrong
side of this fight, dead, rotten wrong, you're a man
after my own heart."

He thrust out his hand. The great Jew clasped it,
warmly. For a minute the grasp held tight. Then it
loosened and fell apart.

The hearers gasped. Yet Braunschweig only smiled
still more broadly.

"I thank you," he answered. "The tribute is worth
having, and I shall cherish it. You are right. I do
understand, even as you understand. I foresee, even
as you foresee — though perhaps in a different way and
with different ambitions. Still, you and I — we know.
We alone. These others, here — pfui! — /"

With a glance, he swept them all in good-humored
contempt. Then his eyes once more fell on John Storm.

You might have thought, by Braunschweig's expres
sion, that this man before him, the most feared, de
nounced and hated human being in the capitalist black
book, had done him some stupendous kindness, some in
calculable benefit. For in his look lay genuine respect
and admiration.

Suddenly Wainwright erupted again.

"Secretary ! Hey, Whitney !" he shouted. "Get an
officer! That, there, is John Storm! Arrest him!
What's the matter, here? You all crazy, or what?"

"Shhh, you!" boomed the Graf, shaking a finger at

298 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

the copper czar, as at a naughty child. "Be quiet,
will you? This is now no time for arrests and such
foolish play. John Storm is above arrest and beyond
it ! He is a world-figure, man, and you would put him
in a jail, like a sneak-thief or a — "

"But, damn you— !"

Braunschweig's face darkened. An intense silence
fell, there in the crowded chamber. All eyes were on
the Jew.

"Pardon me, what did you say?" he queried, slowly,
his accent now a trifle more marked. "Did you address
a remark to me?"

Wainwright measured him, with an eye to combat;
but the Graf's shoulders discouraged him. Scarlet, he
sank back in his chair.

"You apologize, of course?"

A moment's pause, in which the copper czar pal(
again, with excess of rage. Then his arrogant eyes
fell.

"Yes," he grunted.

"Thank you," said Braunschweig. "Now, let us
hear from Mr. Storm."

The scientist confronted them all smiling.

Then, with another look about him, he once more ad
vanced toward the rostrum.

"Mr. Secretary !" exclaimed he.

Whitney was dumb. Astonishment and fear ha(
robbed him of speech.

Storm shot a quick glance at him, then quietb
mounted the richly-carpeted steps; his tread elastic,
soundless as a panther's.

He was somewhat pale. On his face, new lines h«

FLAYING OF THE WOLVES 299

been graven by the soul-searching experiences of the
past weeks.

But, still strong and keen, his eyes alert and slightly
squinted as though peering at some complex chemical
reaction, he faced this crowd of angry vampires; and
for a moment looked them over, calmly.

Strangely they contrasted with him. Strangely all
the tawdry, murder-connoting fripperies of these uni
forms, all these respectable frock-coats, all these be-
ribboned orders and decorations clashed with him. On
the one hand, the essence of bondholding wealth, of
scheming, plotting, blood-spilling capitalism. On the
other, a single, rough-clad man.

In the same old ulster he had worn now for four
years — the very ulster, because the only one he had, in
which he had j ourneyed to Englewood on the first night
of the blighting — he stood before them.

No gewgaws, no medals, no uniforms or decorations
of crowned assassins; no purple or fine linen had he.
Yet his presence, his look, his hand stilled those self-
appointed masters and butchers of men.

Wainwright subsided.

Murchison, crumpled forward in a heap, head hidden
in both palms, remained motionless.

Baker stared, as though hypnotized.

Each in his own way, that great and polyglottic
throng awaited, listening.

Of them all, only the great Jew was at ease.

"Men of all nations," began Storm very slowly, very
gravely, "you rulers and financiers, bankers, dividend-
eaters, gold-worshipers and makers of war, now listen;
for I am going to put some bitter truths to you.

300 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

"You have all known my demands, for some time,
now. You have suffered, and you have made the world
suffer terribly, as a result of your own folly and ob
stinacy, of your blind passion for gold and power. At
this last moment will you save yourselves, or must I
strike the final blow as well?

"Gold ! You have worshiped gold !"

His voice rose now and in his eyes the light of battle
gleamed.

"You, like Israel straying in the wilderness, have
bowed and groveled before the golden calf — and it will
yet betray you — soon !

"Gold!

"Surplus !

"These have been your sacred words ; these, and none
other. You have differed and bickered and quarreled
about everything else, but never about the sanctity of
these two institutions — these, and profits. When I rose
up to threaten them, three of your number, here, knew
my plan. Their first thought was to kill rne. They
would have murdered me in cold blood, had I not out
witted them. And then you put a price on my head !
A price that not all of you, together, now dare try to
collect ! But murder has been in your hearts. In
dividual murder, for profit and power, just as you have
long committed mass-murder, otherwise known as War,
for the very selfsame objects — for gold, and profits,
and surplus !"

He paused and spurned them with a look of loathing.
But no one stirred or spoke. Only on the lips of the
great Jew the smile broadened a trifle.

"Surplus !" cried Storm with sudden vehemence.

FLAYING OF THE WOLVES 301

"Surplus ! It's always been the same old story, for
centuries past. Serfdom was a surplus-squeezing game.
So was slavery. Capitalism is no different — save that
it's worse, and bigger. Your Reign of Gold depends
on surplus, wrung out of the lives and bodies of the
working-class, out of mine own people.

"This surplus is to you the sacred golden wafer, your
heart's desire, your lodestone, your one and only deity.
All creeds are here and many races; yet you all agree
on gold as your god !

"But" — and now Storm took a different tone — "but,
you surplus-lovers, all this involves foreign markets,
and war. Even though millions of honest workers
whose labor produces this wealth, even though millions
of their wives and children starve and shiver for the
use of the surplus, still, part of it must be shipped out
of the country — to make trade !

"So now we come to the use of the bayonet and the
Gatling gun. We come to war !

•"War ! What for? For profits ! For gold ! You
know the answer. You understand! That you and
yours may roll in gold and wallow deep in surplus, mil
lions fight and die; and perfectly inconceivable debt
crushes every nation on earth.

"Debts — national debts — and you draw dividends on
those, too ! Debts, piled in mountains on the backs of
the long-suffering people. This is another burden you
and your infernal system have laid on the world.
Debts! The New York Call gives the monetary loss
of the Pan-European war alone as $118,444,000,000!
Almost ten times the total amount of cash in the whole
v-orld, before I blighted your damned gold!

302 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

"Think ot that, you money-mongers, you gold-
harpies ! All for the sake of gain ! Ridpath, the histo
rian, Tie understood you !" Storm raised a fist on high.
"He laid the scourge of hatred and of scorn upon your
callous backs !

"Hear his words ! Said he:

Reflect for an hour upon the appalling aggregate; consider
the pressure of this intolerable incubus; try to estimate the
horror of this hell; weigh the woe and anguish of them who rest
under it !

All these thousands of millions of dollars — statesmen, phil
osophers, preachers, journalists, mouthpieces of civilization, one
and all of you, how do you like the exhibit? Does it not suffice?
Who is going to pay the account? The people! Who, without
lifting a hand, or turning in their downy beds, will gather this
infamous harvest? Plutocracy!

He paused a moment, as though to let the arraign
ment strike home.

Whitney, frowning blackly, began thumbing a pon
derous volume of statistics, as though some fatuous idea
had entered his brain of overthrowing this damning
accusation with official figures ; but all at once recollect
ing that the total war-debt of the world had recently
passed even beyond Storm's figures, abandoned the at
tempt and tried to look as if no such an idea as disput
ing Storm had ever possessed him.

"Very interesting figures," commented Braunschweig,
cheerfully. "Quite correct, too, though these data are
impossible of accurate statement. A little underesti
mated, perhaps; but that makes nothing. Achl We
hear the truth, to-day ! Proceed !"

"Thanks," answered Storm dryly. "I will. Maybe
I've got a few more facts and figures on hand that may

FLAYING OF THE WOLVES 303

be useful to you people, you sharks that tag the ship
of state to fatten on the carrion of its battles and its
woe!

"Sharks, yes, trailing a ship steered by lunatics!
Statesmen you call yourselves, you people down there
in the solemn flunkery of black broadcloth? Ha!
Idiots, rather — imbeciles and knaves !

"Knaves, pirates, guiding the state galleon — whither?
To the rocks ! Like derelicts the nations, ruled by you
and your gang of polished cutthroats, 'stagger round
and round in a stupid circle, the statesmen planning
international wholesale butcherings, the working class
blinded with blood and sweat and tears !'

"All for the reign of gold — gold, your god!

"And you plan 'greater armies, greater navies, then
still greater armies and still greater navies, then still
more powerful armies and navies ; then impossible taxa
tion, intolerable burdens; then bankruptcy! And now
come wrath, rebellion, revolution. And this consti
tutes the program for practically every "civilized" na
tion in the world !'

"War! Militarism — 'the international political
whirlpool. But now the maelstrom opens, the chasm
yawns; it spreads wide its huge jaws for the capitalist
ship of state !' "

"Damn you!" roared Wainwright. "Treason! If
you had what's coming to you, you'd get a lamp-post
and ten feet of hemp !"

"You're generous," retorted Storm grimly. "Do
you know what I'd like to give you in return? You,
and this gang gathered together here? I'd give you
all a prominent position right on the firing-line of a

304 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

good, lively, up-to-date battle. Maybe you might learn
a thing or two about the sources of wealth and markets
and gold — and patriotism, too, and 'treason !'

"Do you profit-lusting wolves know anything about
the practical details of market-getting and money-mak
ing, via imperialism and expansion? No? Well, as a
mere common, ordinary engineer, / do. And I propose
to tell you just a word about them, here and now.

"Take a modern Gatling, for example. Equipped
with an electric motor, it will hurl out three thousand
bullets a minute. It will tear a high board fence to
pieces in four minutes, at a distance of one mile. How
would you, King Copper, like to buck that proposition
— for gold?

"Oh, a machine gun is a live-wire, all right enough.
When you people howl for war, and plan for war, and
pour out oil on the human fighting-lust to bring on war
— remember that ! Don't forget which end of the gun
you mean to stand at."

Storm paused a moment; then with bitter scorn
cried :

"What a place a battle-field would be for you, all youj
prominent citizens, you bankers, financiers, capitalists,
senators, lawyers, Weltverein officials, captains of in-|
dustry! You editors of kept papers; you pulpit--!
thumpers howling to the 'God of Battles' and preachingj
war! A hurricane of blood and steel! Delightful^
eh? But there's no danger any one of you will take aj
chance there, or on a dreadnaught, or skimming high
in air in a military monoplane, dropping bombs and
getting shot, all for the sake of gold.

"Hardly! There's plenty of common flesh and

FLAYING OF THE WOLVES 305

cheap, ordinary blood to be bought in wholesale lots, at
rock-bottom prices. You're safe enough ! The work
ing class, as Shakespeare said, will spare you, per
sonally, the risk of damage.

" 'Tut, tut ; good enough to toss ; food for powder,
food for powder ; they'll fill a pit as well as better !'

"How many of you, personally, took part in the
Big War, that cost Europe $4,000,000 every hour,
night and day ; that laid waste 125,000 square miles of
territory; that starved to death tens of thousands and
rendered homeless 6,000,000 women and children?
How many of you went into the trenches ? You sneaks !
Not one!"

He turned to another page of his note-book, and
scornfully continued:

"No, you people never risk getting into anything
like the fight at Dixmude where

"'There were 2500 German bodies in the Yser Canal. Many
of them were drowned and others were bayoneted. The very
water itself was bloody, while Dixmude's streets were strewn
thick with the dead. These ghoulish facts alone give some idea
of the savageness of the fighting, the desperation of the German
attacks and the stubbornness of the Allies' resistance. The night
was a hell from dark to dawn. Face to face men even wrestled
and died by drowning each other in the canal's waters.

The Germans were mowed down with rifle shot, torn into human
fragments by shells and bayoneted back, yard by yard, over
their own dead into the waters of the canal.

There were frantic scenes, and the bodies seen in the water on
the next day gave grim testimony of this.

About 3000 German infantrymen got into Dixmude. They held
it for a time, but with shell fire and rifle fire the place was rid
dled through and through. The Germans dashed out of the
crumbling houses, only to be wiped out by a sirocco of shrapnel
and shot in the streets.'

306 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

"Not one of you in all that, was there?" Storm
flung at them, with bitter scorn. "No inducement
would get you into a battle where you might be smashed
to atoms by artillery fire, impaled in bayonet charges
or hacked to pieces with sabers on bastions composed of
a hideous mish-mash of corpses, their dead features
fixed in all the contortions of unutterable agony.

"Suppose you had to do a little of the actual kill
ing and dying— for gold? What then? How do you
like this picture of Sedan?

" 'Imagine masses of colored rags glued together with blood and
brains, pinned into strange shapes by fragments of bones. Con
ceive men's bodies without legs, and legs without bodies, heaps of
human entrails attached to red and blue cloth, and disemboweled
corpses in uniform; bodies lying about in all attitudes with skulls
shattered, faces blown off, hips smashed, bones, flesh, and gay
clothing all pounded together as if brayed in a mortar; all this
recurring perpetually for weary hours— and then you cannot,
with the most vivid imagination, come up to the sickening reality
of that butchery!'"

CHAPTER XXXIV

AT the rear of the room a sudden disturbance arose.
Some one — an old, hoary-headed plutocrat — had
fainted. Around him others pressed. But Storm
paused not.

"Ha !" shouted he, his face irradiate with wrath and
zeal. "So, then, I'm striking home, eh? Cowards!
Who cannot even bear to hear news of the things you
do — for gold !

"You blood-sucking profit-leeches, you sicken when
you learn a little of the truth about the blood you suck,
safely at home !

"Did any of you human vultures ever see a real, self-
supporting vulture? A vulture with at least enough
decency to find his own carrion? If you should go to
'glorious' war in the tropics you have so benevolently
assimilated, you'd see some, all right enough. How
would you, Murchison, like to have a vulture pick out
your eyes so that some other millionaire could rake in
gold?

"And you, Wainwright, how would you like to have
been in some of those battles of the last war, when the
dead were so thick they kept each other standing in the
trenches? How would you, Baker," and Storm's long
finger jabbed viciously at the dumb-staring magnate,

307

308 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

"how would you have enjoyed being a wounded man in
one of those ghastly field-hospitals where the surgeons
busily cut off fingers, hands, arms, feet, legs, as butchers
trim meat, and threw them into pails and baskets?
Where they plugged gaping wounds that welled up in
stantly, crimson, through the plugs? Where straining
bandages ceased, in a moment, to become white?
Where the smell of fresh, warm blood was thick on the
air?

"Imagine Baron Iwami, here, lying wounded in some
remote war-swept village, amid human corpses and the
bodies of cows, horses and pigs, while — as happened
in the last war — some starving swine devours a dead
soldier, once some maiden's lover!

"Imagine Campbell, there, up to his knees in blood,
in a trench, as many soldiers have reported being. Or
fighting and marching for five days without food or
water, charging bayonets by day, and shivering in
bloody trenches by night, as one Essex regiment did,
till their cheeks were like sunken leather and they were
black with blood and choked with mud ! Splendid War,
indeed ; glorious, sublime — and profitable !

"Imagine Whitman lying wounded on a road, among
so many dead and wounded that the wheels of passing
military auto-trucks skidded in the blood, as happened
more than once in the Big War. Just fancy Graf
Braunschweig fighting in a wood where 'strips of flesh,
legs, arms and even heads were lodged in the branches
of trees, while heaps of mutilated bodies lay on the
ground,' or in a field covered with fragments of flesh
and bone, and oozy with blood !

"No, the Graf would certainly never risk being in any

COUNTERPLAY 309

such situation. Neither would any of you jackals.
At the time all that was happening, you were speculat
ing in munitions, war-ships and bonds, or cleaning up
fortunes supplying knock-down coffins, which followed
the German army in trainload lots — coffins that came
i back so full of mutilated corpses that, as also from
* the hospital trains, blood dripped through the floor-
| boards of the cars and reddened the tracks for many
1 miles.

"I remember a letter written to Thomas H. Ince, the
great photo-play producer, by a man who signed him-
self 'A Plain British Soldier' — a letter commending
Ince's vast anti-war picture, 'Civilization.' In that let
ter the man who had known war at first-hand said :

" 'Picture the stench of your comrades rotting in death by your
side, as you are bespattered by the hot blood of others freshly
butchered in all the blistering heat and volcanic thunder of
shrieking shells and belching guns! Then, in the black and
deadlier silence of night, while you lie half buried in muddy,
bloody slime, hour after hour, waiting for Hell's fire to burst
out from earth and sky again, you feel the maggots that are
devouring in their millions the men you have lived and fought
by, crawling over your own living carcass as your brain reels in
delirium — oh God! you can't think of it!'

"Fine, isn't it? Ah, glorious!

"Modern war! Infinite murder, bereavement, de
struction, rape, torment, horror — that you may wax
more sleek and fat, or that your monarchs may wear
another ribbon on their coats or count another prov
ince in their dominions! Soldiers in trenches eating
bread soaked crimson with the blood of their comrades.
Wrecked homes, burned cities, ruined arts and sciences,
numbed education, brutality glorified and every evil

310 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

thing nurtured to ferocious triumph ! The whole world
one great, bleeding, groaning pit of woe! Made so
by whom ? By you, and you, and you !

"Bah ! You swine ! You cowards !"

He snapped his fingers with bitter contempt. His
face drew into a sneer so savage, so hateful, that you
could scarcely have recognized the man.

"You jackals!" he flung at them. "Your class in
stincts haven't changed one jot since Wendell Phillips'
time, when he exclaimed in anger at your traitorous
schemes: 'The time will yet come in America when we
shall have to hang the bankers !' They haven't changed
since the great Lincoln himself — he who tried to bear
malice to none, charity to all — was forced by your in
fernal looting of the nation's wealth, by your detest
able Civil War and railroad robberies, which bled the
country nigh to death — was forced, I say, to cry in
bitter rage that the gold-manipulators 'ought to have
their devilish heads shot off !'

"Words like these, think! from two of the noblest,
most magnanimous souls that ever breathed the air of
heaven! Do you hear them? Do you understand?

"No, impossible. You never can. You have always
hypocritically 'deplored' war, even while making war,
with crocodile tears. Before the Big War, you claimed
war was impossible, for a score of reasons — but you
made war, just the same. For profits beckoned, beck
oned as never before.

"You people never reform. The only way to handle
you is to wipe you out. If you were free from my
grip, to-day, and some imminent war offered you an
other penny or another foot of land, you would still

COUNTERPLAY 311

howl for war, let the other man fight and suffer and
die, and play the same old sickening game !"

Storm paused for breath, and looked about him with
contempt and anger. All eyes were fixed on him, all
lips silent. None now tried to speak, to interrupt, to
gibe. Armed only with the lash of his invective, like
a lion-tamer with a scourge, he stood before them all,
and kept them mute. And for a moment, silence held
the room.

"Civilization has been crushed by gold. Civilization?
What do you know or care for that?" he queried, bit
terly. "Its true test — the state in which each man
most fully realizes his social duty and most adequately
performs it — has been smeared away, blurred, destroyed
by gold.

"Reason has abdicated. Intelligence is enslaved.
No longer does truth rule the affairs of men, or right
prevail, or even common decency get so much as a hear
ing. The world lies stewing, festering, rotting in mis
ery and vice and crime — because of gold !

"Gold! I symbolize capitalism thus, because your
minds are too narrow, bigoted, stupid, and atrophied to
understand a larger term.

"Just as by war I have meant all the abuses of the
System — just as I have called the system 'war,' so that
your minds, incapable of generalization, could grasp
the concrete fact, so by gold I mean the power of ex
ploitation, the rule of class over class, the heartless,
bitter, grinding wage system, the making of profits ou!
of human flesh and blood.

"By gold I mean capitalism, the beast that herds mil
lions of children to the mine, the mill, the coal-breaker.

312 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

the foul and noisome factory. I mean the profit-lust
that pants for war ; that poisons food and drink for an
extra penny of foul gain. I mean the chronic crime of
unemployment, of starvation in a land of plenty. I
mean government by injunction and by gunmen; the
slugging, shooting and burning of strikers — yes, even
of their women and children; the labor-sweating that
drives each year a hundred thousand girls forth — out
of the smugly-owned department-stores — such as vou
own, or you, out on to the street, to sell themselves for
bread !

"I mean the greed that dries the milk in the working
class mother's breast ; that each year crushes and man
gles half a million workmen in this land alone; that
owns and operates rotten railroads and hurls thousands
of victims to death, year by year — because there's divi
dends to win!

"I mean capitalism! All that is wrong, criminal,
ugly, base, hateful, vile, low! All that breeds disease
and death, all that is antithetical to truth, strength,
beauty, light, purity, intelligence !

"Oh, generation of vipers ! Your day is come ! Your
System crumbles, even now; and reason shall yet rule!

"Reason — intelligence — these shall be the watch
words, the touchstones of the future state.

"Soon the truth shall be seen and known by all men,
that at the bottom of all evil, of all crime and sorrow,
all pain and wrong and woe, lie ignorance and greed.

"That only as the light of reason shines, so can the
world forge ahead to newer, better things. That only
as false standards crumble to 'the immutable dust,' can
humanity stand erect and face the east and smile.

COUNTEBPLAY 313

"Then, instead of men like you and you and you,
sitting here as the representatives of power, full-fed and
fat and stupid, gorged and bloated with your own dull
inanity ; instead of flunkeys and incompetents to repre
sent this land abroad; instead of genius huddled starv
ing in the attic, crass dullness in the palace plethoric
with unearned luxury — the product of others' toil — all
shall be otherwise.

"No more shall the painted, pampered mistress of the
millionaire — brainless, smirking and vicious — loll in
her touring-car and fondle her costly Pomeranian on
Fifth Avenue ; while some beautiful, brave, keen-witted,
pure-hearted and intelligent girl works her white fin
gers to the bone all day, then sits poring over books till
early morning, trying to learn, to grow — striving to
conquer poverty and amass wisdom at the same time.

"But all shall be different. A kinder and a saner
world shall come to birth, a world wherein shall be no
misery, no war, no poverty, woe, strife, creeds, oppres
sion, tears.

"Even as I have crumbled the golden cap of the figure
of Liberty to dross and ashes, so shall I forever destroy
the golden oppression which until now has weighed on
Liberty itself.

"All shall be changed; all shall be 'better than well.'
Labor shall yet reap its full reward. Man shall at last
be free. The world-chains shall be shattered, and the
human race acknowledge its fraternity, know its death
less right to truth, and by the flame of the unquench
able sun of inspiration look up, clear-eyed, to the vast
arch of life set free !"

He ceased, and with a long, deep breath gazed at the

314 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

assembly there before him. Then he continued in an
other tone :

"All this shall be done, and soon. For a brief mo
ment yet, gold still rules men's minds. Gold!

"Yet, mark you this, you sleek hyenas — to-day the
reckoning comes. To-day, at noon, unless you all ca
pitulate to me, the final blow will fall on you and on
your war-hoards.

"At twelve your power ceases. My demands you al
ready know. Unless you cede to them and take imme
diate steps forever to abolish war, the values you have
bowed before and worshiped will become dross and
ashes. You must yield, or witness the degradation of
capital, of exploitation, of surplus, of all that you hold
dear!

"Intellect must rule, humanity triumph, war cease,
the reign of gold forever perish !"

He stopped, and for a long, silent minute fixed his
gaze upon them.

No man stretched out a hand to stop him; no man
spoke.

Slowly and with a kind of impersonal abstraction he
walked down the long aisle.

Unmolested, he reached the exit.

He turned, swept them all with his gaze, and stood a
moment with a brooding, scornful look upon his face.
They thought perhaps he might hurl some parting word
at them, some final and excoriating denunciation; but
no word came.

John Storm had said his say. In silence now he
pushed the swinging leather-covered doors — and was
gone, in those worn and patched clothes, gone with

COUNTERPLAY 315

that shabby cap clutched tight in his big hand.
Out from their presence passed this scorching breath
of the world's toilers ; and for a little while, was silence.

Then suddenly, Braunschweig laughed.

"Ach, jar quoth he. "It hurts, eh? The truth is
painful? For it is the truth, gentlemen, and nothing
else. An intelligent young man — very. And I like
him, even though you do not. Perhaps for that very
reason, I like him better. We might be friends, he and
I, yet. A big man, that, of great insight and power.

"So intelligent a young man — so entertaining, is he
not? But I regret that he is mistaken. Let me tell
you now, gentlemen," and he laughed again, a hard,
mirthless laugh that made the flesh crawl, "I have all
this foreseen. And something has happened already,
which I am sure our friend has not anticipated."

A wondering murmur rose, in the great room.

The financiers, officials, scientists and eminent men
of arms, recovering now a little from their shame and
stultified abashment, shifted to see the great Jew and
to draw a little nearer. Silent, yet, was Stanley Whit
ney on the rostrum; silent was Murchison; silent all
save Braunschweig, who stood there smiling at them,
still, as though perhaps he, bitterly as many hated him,
might yet lead the way for their salvation.

He made no haste to speak ; but, slowly pondering his
words, remarked with great deliberation, after an ap
preciable pause :

"Our friend, I take it, has so arranged his machine
as it will to-day at noon strike the remaining national
hoards in different lands far away. Also here.

"Let him dissolve even these war-hoards, the last gold

316 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

in the world, if he will. It makes nothing. One thing
he has not known, understood or taken into account —
a thing that I, almost from the beginning, have known
and acted on. A thing you, too, have been as ignorant
of as he.

"My confreres, it is this — and now that it is an
accomplished fact, I have no hesitancy to speak it to
you. It is — "

"For God's sake, what?" cried the billionaire, his face
aflame with hate and eagerness. "Have you found
some way to beat that hell-hound? If so, by the Eter
nal, the whole world ought to belong to you ! Go on —
let's have it ! Quick !"

CHAPTER XXXV

THE GOLD RETURNS

BRAUNSCHWEIG laughed.

"I thank you, sir," said he. "The vorld? I do not
rant it. I vant only the gold-ash, all the gold-ash that
iss left now. And this, my friends, is vat I haf already
got, at present. To the best off my knowledge, every
ounce off gold and off gold-ash in the entire vorld iss
now either mine, or I haf an option on it. I own it
all!"

Into his voice crept a strong Germanic accent. The
excitement that now was gaining on him showed in his
deep-set eyes and breaking speech.

"All ! All !" cried Braunschweig. "The gold off der
whole vorld iss mine !"

He leaned forward, clutching with both hands at
these men, as though he held them all by the throat.
He stammered, gasped, fought for words and found
none.

"Gold! All, all der gold!" he gasped.

A financier at the back of the room cried out some
quick, unintelligible thing.

Wainwright, leaning over to Baker, swore hotly
under his breath.

"The damned Jew!" he snarled. "He's got some
thing up his sleeve, that's sure. It's a big game he's

317

318 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

playing, you bet, or he wouldn't be playing it. What
the devil can it be?"

"We'll know, soon enough !"

"Bet your neck ! But whatever it is, we've certainly
let the Heiny beat us to it, after all ! I'd like to wring
his hellish neck for him !"

"Wring it?" replied Baker. "Why not? Wait!
This game's not through yet !"

"All — all der gold !" again cried Braunschweig.
"Und mit dis gold, I haf you all, efery one, in my
power, ab-so-lutely !"

Groans, murmurs, curses and fervid execrations, now
scantily veiled by the exigencies of polite society, droned
through the hall.

That they, all these financiers and mighty ones of
the gold rule now instinctively felt themselves fore
stalled, tricked, outwitted, done — this maddened these
dollar patriots as blood a tiger.

But Braunschweig paid no heed. He was struggling
with his own excitement, striving to dominate himself
and calm the outburst that had robbed him of his prided
English accent. A moment he kept silence, then spoke
again :

"Pardon me, gentlemen; I apologize for relapsing
into such forms of speech. The stress — that explains
it. At such times, I cannot help a little reverting to
the dialect. But I am calm now. I am myself.

"Yes, gentlemen, when I perceived the inevitable, I
prepared for it. I did not await the last blow. Un
known to you all, I have already negotiated with all the
governments in the world, making them advantageous
offers for their war-hoards — in silver, of course.

THE GOLD RETURNS 319

"Governments and nabobs alike, occidental and ori
ental, they have all secretly accepted, after a certain
amount of negotiation by code. It was not really so
difficult a task as you might think, gentlemen, consider
ing that I have so many thousands of agents in all parts
of the world, eh? No, not so insuperably difficult.

"The last government to sell out was this one, the
United States. Achl you are hard men to negotiate
with, you Americans — but prudent, too, when you see
ruin in the face staring you ! Yes, at last I succeeded
to buy even the Treasury surplus. And I alone re
served the right to announce that fact.

An interesting process the gold collection was, with
some picturesque features, yes ! For example, the last
private individual to sell out to me, in any considerable
quantity, was a Malay pirate named Palembang. Only
;four days ago he sailed in to Singapore, down the
iStraits of Malacca, mad with panic, insane with it, gen
tlemen — terrified out of his brown skin.

"Devils, he said, had attacked his junk and had
Iturned all his Siamese gold, looted from the coast vil-
jlages, into a kind of whitish dust — devil-dust, which he
jwould have thrown overboard, at once, only neither he
nor any man of his crew dared lay a finger to the stuff.

"My Singapore agent immediately confirmed his ter-
or, convinced him the ashes were poisonous, and kindly
;ook them off his hands, for a cash consideration of
some $12,000, silver, to be paid him by the pirate. In
formed of this by cable, I allowed my agent to keep the

ver, and directed him to forward the ash to Bombay,
here I have a large repository. A unique case, gentle-

n — to have ash given away, with a handsome bonus

320 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

beside! Incidentally, the government of Siam has al
ready condemned Palembang to death — by being trod
den on by the royal white elephants, in the usual man
ner — but this is a mere detail, unworthy of notice.

"All I wish to point out is the fact that, by one means I
or another, I have already bought in the total and coin- j
plete gold supply and ash supply of the entire world ;j
that the remaining governmental war-hoards are not I
now where our friend Storm — ach Himmel! so very!
intelligent, is he not? — thinks they are; that his attack!
will consequently miss fire ; and that, at this very
moment, gentlemen, practically the whole available ash
of the world is now located — "

"Where? Where?" burst out Murchison. "You're
going to euchre him, yet? You're going to trim that
devil? Let me in on that game, Braunschweig, and by;
heaven! all I have is at your disposal! Where, in;
God's name, where's that ash?"

"Here! Right below us, gentlemen," answered the
great Jew, pointing downward. "In the vaults imme-j
diately under our feet!"

Silence greeted his announcement ; the silence of utter, }
stunned amazement.

Only Whitney, Secretary of the Treasury, seemed
unmoved, for only he had known the secret.

On every face the thought was painted, the pre-1
science clear, that now they all (and the world, too)<
stood on the brink of some vast, till then unforeseen,]
incalculable change, some overturn, some breaking ofj
the social integument — an issuing into new and other:
things, whence there could be no turning back.

That all the gold or gold-ash in the entire world had

THE GOLD RETURNS 321

at last been collected by one supremely powerful and
daring man, collected and stored in one titanic, mon
strous hoard — this concept was too huge, too cosmi-
cally overpowering, to take instant root even in those
minds used to thinking in terms of millions.

So, for a moment, no one uttered any word; and
through the vast and silent hall even the ticking of the
broad-faced onyx clock over the rostrum sounded au
dibly.

From without rose the murmur and hum of the gi
gantic, awed, slow-moving multitude which now blocked
alley, street and square, filled park and terrace, black
ened wall and roof, and jammed each window whence
by any possibility the Treasury building could be
seen.

"The white flag — will it go up? Will they surren
der? This question was in every mouth, this thought
filled every soul. Tense, but with a kind of apathetic
calm, the people waited. And over the wires, cleared to
bear the news, the nation listened too, and the whole
world.

Save for the sprinkling of red banners here and there,
and the exhortations of "soap-boxes" striving even at
the last moment to spread the truth and show the way
to peace and a new order of things, whatever might
arise, there seemed but little energy or purpose in that
press.

Men were waiting, that was all ; waiting for midday,
for the anticipated final blow. After that, what? No
body seemed to know, or care — nobody save the ex-
horters, around whose improvised lecture-platforms
thicker nuclei had gathered.

322 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

Braunschweig, meanwhile, had almost finished speak
ing.

"Now, gentlemen, now that you know the situation, I
make you an offer. As a matter of interest to you, I
will — if you like — show you this hoard of mine.

"Certain facts, known to me by the aid of the truly
most highly superior German science, facts evidently
unknown to you, make it positive that to-day at noon
certain developments will take place, of a most extraor
dinary character. Ach, ja, quite so! And, if you
choose, you may witness them.

"Shall we visit, now, the vaults? After that, per
haps, we shall perhaps be better able to answer the de
mands of Mr. John Storm in a satisfactory manner.
And he should have such an answer! Such an intelli
gent young man, so well-informed and energetic !"

He gestured toward the door.

"Shall we go, gentlemen? Yes? Good! So be it!
Permit me, then, to extend to you the freedom of my
own private vaults, leased from your government. Shall
I now have the honor of showing you all the way?"

Silent, amazed, wholly unable as yet to correlate their
thoughts or voice their profound astonishment, the dis
tinguished company followed him.

He, now, in his own person, walked visibly there be
fore them as the embodiment, the summing-up, the su
preme climactic personality of capitalism, the rule of
gold.

For, since the System itself had developed, toward
the beginning of the nineteenth century, never yet had
one individual gathered to himself so preponderatingly
vast a majority of the world's wealth.

THE GOLD RETURNS 323

Even Murchison himself, still many times a million
aire though he was, felt poor and mean and weak by
contrast with this overwhelming, physically huge and
financially inconceivably vast figure of the mighty Jew,
who now, standing at the open tool-steel door of the
subterranean vaults, waited for his one-time competi
tors and rivals, his present inferiors and guests, to
enter.

Despite the many red-glowing incandescents that
burned beneath the groined vaults and down the long,
dim corridors, still a half-darkness shrouded the place.

The footsteps of the financiers and the officials
sounded dull and hollow on that steel and concrete floor ;
their voices murmured eerily, with strangely sibilant re-
echoings.

Awed, despite themselves, overwhelmed by the vast
tiers and ranges of buckskin or of heavy yellow canvas
bags on every hand, that stretched away down the
gloomy, dim-lit corridors, they grouped uneasily,
peered, shifted their fine-shod feet, and pried about with
mingled envy, curiosity and impotent malice.

A door clanged metallically. Then Braunschweig
appeared among them, pocketing a key. He began to
speak.

"Gentlemen," said he, his voice low and carefully
modulated, "you now see before you practically the en
tire residue of what once was the world's gold. Some
of the final hoards have not yet arrived, but at all
event, not one of them is now where Mr. Storm believes.
We do not need to consider them ; enough is now here,
as gold or as ash, so that we may say a vast majority of
the entire world's material now lies in these vaults.

324 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

"You have wondered, perhaps — you must have, I am
sure — why I, a man reputed somewhat keen in such
matters, should have exchanged silver for ashes, dis
bursed carloads, shiploads, mountains of silver, for
what seems mere dross, eh?

"Well, let me tell you; now that my master-coup is
a fait accompli; now that practically all is over, save
reaping the harvest. Let me explain !"

He crossed his huge arms, sank his Mosaic beard a
moment on his breast, and from beneath leonine brows
peered at this Gentile and this pagan gathering, there
before him in the dim, silent, thick-walled, impregnable
last redoubt of capitalism.

"Let me tell you now, my friends ! It is so astonish
ingly simple — when you understand. At once, at the
very first news of the Blight, I had my idea. Immedi
ately I consulted Professor Glanzer, of Bucharest, and
Mme. Curie, in Paris. By telegram, instantly. I also
took council with Professor Heinzmann, of my private
laboratories at Diisseldorf.

"They differed as to details, but all agreed as to one
essential fact. Not that I let any of them know all of
what I wanted to learn — acini no indeed! But by cor
relating their answers, gentlemen, I discovered the
truth."

"What truth, for heaven's sake? What truth?"
rasped Murchison, haggard and wan.

"I learned that gold is truly indestructible. That
even though certain radio-active forces may temporar
ily disintegrate it, yet reintegration must eventually
follow. That, once the destructive power is past, so
comes the gold back, as before. That — "

THE GOLD RETURNS 325

A cry, harsh and piercing, interrupted him. It was
Murchison's voice.

"Do you mean to say," shouted he, "that you've
beaten us all to it? Done us all? Left us all holding
the sack, while you, you have grabbed the bait?"

"Pray do not interrupt," said the great Jew, frown
ing. "This is now a scientific matter, and also, hard
words can change nothing. I learned, in short, that
whatever this Mr. Storm might do, his machine would
by a certain date absolutely exhaust the total cosmic
supply of the one particular radio-active force or Zeta-
ray, producing this effect.

"After that, I knew reintegration would inevitably at
once set in. The gold would return — it could not help
returning! All I needed to do was ascertain the date
exactly on which the process would reverse. This — "

"Fool ! Fool that I was !" suddenly cried a loud
voice. "I might have known!"

It was Professor Jamieson, of Stamford University
— far and away the leading metallurgist of the New
World. Now, clutching his brows, he ground his teeth
with rage.

"God!" he gritted. "The world was in my hand — •
and it escaped me !"

"The exact date," continued Braunschweig, "was all
I needed in order to make one universal sweep — "

Another disturbance in the group huddled there
under the groined arches dim and dusty, broke his
discourse. Sounds of a scuffle, of angry words, of
oaths verberated through the dim, vaulted space.

Then shouted the professor:

"It's the same old sneaking game, in a new dress — the

326 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

same ! When the first of your family waited at Water
loo, saw Wellington victorious, and knew in London
that the country was mad with fear because of his re
ported defeat "

Braunschweig smiled indulgently.

"Why rake up ancient history, my friend ?" exclaimed
he. "Have you not enough this day to occupy your
mind?"

"Then killed a dozen of the fastest horses to get to
Calais — hired a swift vessel and crossed the Channel
before the news could — " continued the professor, pant
ing with rage, "and raced to London — bought, bought,
bought wagon-loads of tumbling British securities — and
in a few hours found himself rich beyond the dreams of
avarice — "

"Yes, he was playing the capitalist game, and playing
it hard," concluded Braunschweig with a laugh. "And
7 am playing it — harder! And you are losing ! Worse,
you are whining in defeat. You cannot feel the lash
in silence, cowards that you are !

"Cowards, I say!" Braunschweig's great voice
echoed through the hollow passageways. "John Storm
spoke the truth. You love the game, so long as you
win. But when you lose, ach Himmel! you split the
very heavens with your howls !

"But do not wince, my friends. Do not recriminate.
It can do no good. Listen only. I must have your
attention. Because, mark you, this day at noon —

"This day when Storm plans to strike the final hoards
which are not where he thinks they are — this day is the
day set by science and by the immutable laws of nature,
for the beginning of the reintegration.

THE GOLD RETURNS 327

"This day—"

Braunschweig could not finish. Spontaneous in its

rage, bitter and unbridled, the hot resentment of the

| tricked and cheated financiers burst out tumultuously.

Hard-clenched fists rose in the close, stifling air.

i Canes brandished.

In a score of tongues, many maledictions rained on
j the world-master.

Even Baron Iwami, his Japanese aplomb now forgot
ten, hissed "Baka!" as he glared at Braunschweig with
a darkened, swollen face in which his gleaming eyes
flicked lights like a cobra's.

For a moment it looked as though the mob of out-

| raged plutocrats — struck in their tenderest part, the

pocket — were going to rush him; but Braunschweig,

standing a full head above them all, only smiled right

I scornfully.

!"Bah !" gibed he, and snapped his fingers. "You are
what you call the good sports, eh? I think not! So
long you win, all is good. You bow, you smile so.
i But when you lose, then you swear, you spit at me, you
call me 6 Jew' ! Not now 'eminent Hebrew financier,'
and 'savior of society,' but 'Schurke — pendard! — baka!
— Shylock!' Ach, yes, I understand. I know your
different languages, you men. I know! I will repay
you yet !"

His face grew terrible. There in that darkened
place, where only the garish trembling gleam of an in
candescent fell downward and aslant across his power
ful, deep-lined features, silhouetting his brow, nostrils
and scorn-curved lips, he loomed titanic.

His eyes, half-seen and cavernous, glowered like those

328 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

of Lucifer surveying the lost souls which all had fallen
that Tie might rise to evil power.

And out toward the snarling, wrath-stung press be
fore him he stretched his corded hand.

"Behold !" cried he in a loud voice, the hidden fanati
cism of his soul suddenly bursting forth, "Behold, this
shall be the true Zionism ! A Jew shall enslave you all,
you pagans and you Gentiles ! Behold, my race comes
to its own, again ! 'Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord ;
I will repay!' Now the earth and the fulness thereof
is about to pass into mine hand and to my people, oh
you foolish and empty generation !

"Thus Israel smites the Philistine, hip and thigh!
Two thousand years and more you and yours have
robbed, tortured, slain my people. But now, now comes
another story. Now I enter the game; and like clay
in my fingers, I squeeze you all, every one — all govern
ments, all great men, pagan or goy, no matter. You
are all alike as chaff to my flame !

"Rachel Revenge! Praised be Jehovah, Gott in
Israel!"

But even as he stood there, irradiate with joy,
thrilled and swollen with the pride of vengeance on these
exploiters, hated once as competitors, scorned now as
dupes and fools and beaten weaklings in the cut
throat game, a startled, tremulous, gasping cry
thrilled all the darkened vagueness of the treasure-
vaults.

"Look! See! My God— look there!"

"Aye, look there, and look again, and still once
more!" roared Braunschweig, in a vast, triumphant
bellow. "Now, watch!"

THE GOLD RETURNS 329

But he had scant need to tell them, or to announce
the truth.

(For now the cry was echoed by another ; now in many
tongues and accents the babel of that wonder echoed
I up against the heavy concrete arches.

"The gold! The gold! Look— see! The gold is
j coming back again!"

And there was pointing now; and there were run
nings to and fro.

Grave men, silk-hatted men, and men with long, black
frock coats, men with spectacles and canes, or — per
chance — with swords belted to their waists; men with
ribbons and decorations; statesmen, financiers, great
bankers and captains of industry; these stared like
children, mazed at the incredible, unimaginable wonder.

Like children they cried out; and, open-mouthed,
wide-eyed, filled and shaken with almost superstitious
terror, watched that miracle swiftly taking place, which
from the very first the great Jew had foreknown and
planned upon.

"The gold! The gold! See there, the gold once
more!"

Down along the aisles where the still unaltered metal
lay, no change was taking place ; but in every corridor
and chamber of the ash-catacomb, where lay the relics
of the world's one-time gigantic hoards, a swelling, an
integrant revival was in motion.

Crepitant, with at first a slow, dry, shifting sound,
like sands, perhaps, blowing up over the edge of a wind
swept dune ; then faster, louder and more strident, the
change was taking place.

And the whole vaults were filled with that slithering,

330 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

sliding noise ; and here a bag broke, there a shelf cracked
and fell with the sudden strain.

Where only dust had been, now were beginning to
shine, in yellow sparkles, scattered and ever-growing
signs of gold once more !

Dumb-stricken, the watchers stared, peering in awe
and terror down the long and dusty passageways.

They knew not — in that deep, heavily vaulted treas
ure-house, with steel doors closing them in, how could
they know? — that out in the broad, sunshiny world,
the same stupendous thing was taking place as well.

Wherever a little dust had been left by the sweeping
besom of Braunschweig's search for ash, wherever a
pinch of the gray powder still lay, overlooked by the
great Jew's agents or preserved for old association's
sake, there gold came back again.

No longer the form was kept ; but molecule by mole
cule, the element, the metal was reintegrating !

Storm's radio jector, almost at the moment of its final
foray on the world's gold, had tapped and drained the
last available waves of Zeta-rays. And gold, released
from that invisible yet blighting force, once more was
reasserting its indestructibility, its indomitable power
and its life.

Here, there, everywhere, the overlooked grains flashed
back to gold! On the Metropolitan lantern in New
York ; on the State House dome in Boston, the particles
of ash still left lodged in interstices, now met the noon
day sun with a faint yet revivifying sparkle that thrilled
men with an abandon of joy.

Old family heirlooms, rings, brooches, frames and
gewgaws of all kinds, which had held a certain amount

THE GOLD RETURNS 331

}f gold in alloy with baser metals and had mechanically
retained the gold-ash, now recovered their sheen and
brilliancy.

In pockets, in bureau-drawers, even in gutters and all
isorts of inconceivably strange places, myriad little nug
gets and glistering beads of gold began to be discov
ered.

Mushroomlike, these curious growths sprang up, the
result of that strong, together-drawing, reintegratory
force now set free by the exhaustion of Storm's Zeta-
ray, as Braunschweig's savants had predicted.

All in all, some millions of dollars' worth of such
curios must have been found, either by their former
owners or by strangers; and for a while, all over the
world, strange scenes and lawless ones took place.

But the total of this miscellaneous gold, all told, was
not one per cent, of that which now, close-mured in the
i Treasury vaults, was rushing back like a tide, rising,
filling, overflowing with resistless force.

CHAPTER XXXVI

THE MOLTEN FLOOD

Now on every hand the buckskin and canvas bags
were bursting with ripping sounds and dull reports.
Shelves groaned and creaked, broke down and crashed
to the floor; and the spilled dust, reintegrating as it
fell, flung a shining, shimmering wealth across the con
crete.

The startled plutocrats, knowing not which way to
turn, saw wonders on all sides. Here a passage was
already choked with the swift rush of the returning
treasure, there a whole tier of sacks came rolling, tum
bling down, breaking open as they fell.

A confused uproar, made of a thousand noises,
crashed booming through the vaults.

And through the huge and rapidly growing confu
sion, the saturnine, deep laugh of Braunschweig re
echoed loudly.

But — what was this?

Already a distinct change of temperature was to be
felt ; already the vast, the sudden liberation of all that
molecular activity was beginning to produce its inevi
table effect — heat.

An Argentine banker, stooping, touched some of the
newly restored, quickly expanding gold. With a cry
of "Dios Mio!" he drew back his hand, scorched.

332

THE MOLTEN FLOOD 333

Far down one passageway, a thin, bright molten
stream appeared.

Serpentlike it advanced its glistening head; it wa
vered, ran forward sinuously, hesitated, then with ac
celerating speed and quickly swelling volume cascaded
forward.

"Great God !" exclaimed Grand Duke Fedor Ivanoff,
a broken, dissipated man who was reported to own
twelve million roubles' worth of Russo-Japanese war
bonds, and to have sold 184,000 rifles to the Mikado.
BozTie moy! The pressure — it melts the gold!"

Here and there, other like cries were rising, now.
The truth was beginning already to drive home to these
astounded, dazed and wondering plutocrats, there in
the far recesses of the vaults. They were beginning to
understand, though vaguely, the fact of this sudden,
violent, molecular change.

No other result was possible. The elementary prin
ciple was at work, that an expanding body, constricted,
was developing heat.

Glaciers move forward over a coat of pressure-melted
ice, which cannot freeze because of the great weight.
Compressed air grows hot. Long-hammered iron be
comes red-hot, or even white.

So now this dust, suddenly leaping back to gold
again, rose to the melting-point, then fused, and now in
ever-thickening torrents, rolled along the concrete pas
sageways; and as it rolled, it licked into its jaws still
more gold and still more.

Added to the intense molecular activity of the radio-:
active reintegration, was the physical effect of the pres
sure.

334. THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

Under the double urge the gold melted like tallow on
a stove ; and ever, always, more and more dust swelled,
changed, melted, and began to flow and flame.

Alarmed now, with all scientific wonder and all
thoughts of gold-lust or of revenge swept quite away —
with only startled cries to voice their sudden panic, the
men of Mammon were retreating.

No longer Braunschweig laughed; no longer his
beaten competitors thought to curse or to revile him.

Life, now, they sought — they who had caused so
many million deaths that they might fatten. Life,
life alone !

But now all was confusion.

Already the golden flood had poured across the exit.

In the limited space of those vaults was stored dust
which represented a volume of gold at least three times
larger than the entire cubic area of the stronghold.

Gold from South Africa, tundra gold, Alaska beach-
gold, now mingled in a shimmering yellow tide with the
returning wealth that once had been the war-hoards of
Europe and the New World.

And faster now, faster still, the temperature was
rising.

The crashing-down of shelves, the sliding of great
heaps of ash and gold, the crackling of flames as the
molten gold fired the broken woodwork of the compart
ments, blent in horrible turmoil.

As the scared plutocrats, gasping, choking, feeling
their way along the few remaining corridors still prac
ticable, stumbled toward the door of tool-steel, a ther
mometer on any wall there would have registered a
minimum of 115°.

THE MOLTEN FLOOD 335

Not merely did the heat mount ; it soared — it leaped
aloft like a vast, venomous, strangling serpent that
caught its victims by the windpipe and seared them
with its blasting poison.

Bankers who with the utmost complacency had sent
thousands of their fellowmen out on to the crashing,
; flaming battlefield or staggering up the Maxim-scoured
: hills, now with the sudden squealing terror of trapped
\ rats fought to find the exit through that blistering haze
I of smoke and poisonous vapor.

Toward the vault doors, blinded, wheezing, panic-
sick, the Mammonites, "the civilized, fur-lined, ortho
dox cannibals, the blow-flies of a putrescent civiliza
tion," staggered drunkenly.

Unheeded, the tall hats rolled away. Canes fell to
the hot concrete. Monocles and pince-nez dropped and
were crushed beneath the stumbling feet.

In two minutes the sleekest, smoothest, fattest pluto-

j crat among them was more grimed and torn, more sav-

1 age, frantic and bestial than a prehistoric cave-man

: scuttling through his caverns to escape some volcanic

upburst of the infinitely long ago.

Here a glimpse of a pale, distorted face and rolling
eyes, through the fast-thickening murk.

There a clutching hand appeared — then vanished in
the smoke.

Further, dim-seen like a drove of Dante's lost spirits
in the fiery rain, a jostling group of world-masters
fought, tooth and nail, to get through some last avail
able open passageway.

And murder-blows were struck with fist and cane
and pocket-knife, red-bladed now; blood ran; full-fed

336 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

bodies went down, screeching, clutching, engulfed in the
ever-rising, ever-oncoming golden flood.

Where now was Braunschweig?

They no longer knew, nor cared. Once he appeared,
vast in the c yanid smoke and swirl ; then was gone.

With skins parching, shriveling, turning black, hair
crisping in the glow as they retreated away, away from
the doors, back into the furthest runways and alleys of
the vaults for some slight temporary relief, little they
thought of him !

No longer did they lust for the rich yellow metal,
so plentifully poured out before them, there. No
longer desired they aught save to escape its death-
bringing touch.

Gold, which under their control so long had poisoned,
stifled, garroted the world, now blindly and inexorably
had turned upon them all. Once their slave, it now
had leaped to power as their savage, their insensate
master and destroyer.

Cut off already, blocked and rendered inaccessible
the doorway was, by tides of livid metal. Past these
they could not penetrate. Howling, praying in hoarse
screams, cursing, they retreated, with ashen faces al
ready scorching, with fear-writhen lips, with mouths
that twitched and yelled and sobbed even like the
mouths of wounded and dying men, mangled and for
saken on the battle-field.

One might almost have thought the vault a scene in a
steel-trust mill, when some imperfect crucible or some
defective furnace bursts and lets the molten iron loose
upon the slaves of steel.

Hendricks, steel magnate and prominent opponent of

THE MOLTEN FLOOD 337

labor legislation, may have had some dim thought of
I this likeness just before he stumbled over Iwami's body
and went down, strangling, writhing, never to rise
again.

Fervent as a pit-fire in a West Virginia or a Colo
rado coal-mine, the conflagration charred their very
* bones and marrow.

Up, swiftly up the heat still swooped, like a mono
plane released against a strong head-wind.

Four, six of them were down now — ten — a dozen!

Seared, scorched, blinded, smoking they fell, clawing
in vain at the unyielding, deadly walls of steel.

From the further alcoves and recesses, still untouched

save by the vapors and foul gases, strangling screams

I of anguish, shrill as those of soldiers burned alive by

j the feuerwerfer of the Prussians, jaggedly split the

dun and verberating air.

Penned into the last few aisles, numbed, dying, grop
ing vainly for they knew not what, the still surviving
gold men still staggered to and fro, grappling, weakly
thrusting their groping way past and over each other.

"Water! For God's sake, water!"

It was Baker's voice, now weak and hoarse, a ter
rible, wailing scream.

Baker fell, trying to clamber up on to a smoldering
shelf — fell, and was trampled by Wainwright, and died
with imprecations on his blackened lips.

Wainwright, stone-blind and seared till the flesh
peeled from face and hands, seized Murchison and
thrust him, like a shield, against the oncoming lava
tide of gold.

The two men clawed at each other, howling dismally,

338 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

like wildcats in a trap. Wainwright's brute strength
still served him, for a moment, though already he had
breathed fire and his lungs were cooked. A few seconds
he still made a screen of the writhing, screeching bil
lionaire, even as, aforetime, Murchison himself had held
a clerk before him, to ward off a bomb-explosion, ter
ribly mangling the clerk, who had never been able to
collect a penny of damages.

But Wainwright's respite was brief. For now the
gold was on them both.

Breath failed. They reeled and sank, together ; and
the coruscating metal took them. Death was welcome.

The sickening smell of burnt flesh and hair, of baking
bones and blood, spread through the smoke-filled air.
The scene almost paralleled, in a small way, a glorious
victory over the 'red rampart's slippery edge' of battle.

A frightful, screaming laugh howled through the
ruddy, flaming smoke and fumes.

Braunschweig, at bay, staggered to his feet for a
brief instant.

Gone, now, his prophet-beard — scorched clean from
his blackened, roasted face. Gone his leonine hair.

And now his crackling skin broke, as with a fiendlike
grimace of defiance he flung both mighty arms aloft.

Still, to the end, his huge strength seemed to vitalize
that tremendous body. Stricken, blinded, gripped at
the throat by stifling gases, poisonous and hot, the
great Jew stood erect, unyielding, proud.

Gold! All his life a slave to him, a willing serf and
tool, not even now when it had turned on him to slay
him, would he bow to it.

"Gold ! Gold ! The whole world's gold !" roared he,

THE MOLTEN FLOOD 339

hoarse and terrible as the Minotaur in the fabled
Cretan labyrinth.

"All mine — mine! Allr—"

Crash!

Down on him collapsed a scorching partition.

A spurt of flame — a rolling, tumbling flow of scintil-
lant gold!

Then smoke and fumes covered all.

Silence !

Silence, save for the crackle of the flames, the rip
pling, crawling tourbillons of gold that swirled, rose,
mounted ever; that filled the vaults clear to their
arches ; that, still unchecked, swifter and ever swifter
still, expanded, burst upward through the solid roof of
the crypt in a vast deluge of bright, blinding glory.

Silence !

Death!

Death for the Mammonites.

Yet as they died, life for the people was coming to its
birth. Life for the nation. Life for the waiting,
eager, mazed and trembling world.

CHAPTER XXXVII

SUNSHINE UPON THE HEIGHTS

DRIVEN back by the swiftly accelerating heat and
smoke about the now deserted Treasury building, the
stupendous multitudes watched the outbursting of this
cataclysmic flood with silent wonder.

Where, at the beginning of the Blight, all had been
noise, panic, tumult and uproar inconceivable, now a
calm, watchful, patient dignity possessed the people.

What was happening?

Nobody knew exactly.

The general opinion — as you will find it reflected in
the press of that day, if you refer back to the files of
the old papers — seems to have been that this subter
ranean disturbance was one symptom of Storm's final
coup, the destruction of the last national reserve of
1,200 tons of gold.

But, for a while, nothing was done. The cit}', black
with people, simply stood still and watched, even as the
nation and the world, by wire and by wireless, were
watching too.

So disorganized every department of life seemed to
have been, so wholly disjointed all the local and Fed
eral governmental machinery, that even so trivial a
detail as the ringing in of a fire-alarm was neglected.
Even had an alarm been pulled, no engines could have

340

SUNSHINE UPON HEIGHTS 341

penetrated the close-packed masses of people which for
many blocks in all directions — even from Potomac Park
and the river, around by the Capitol and the Union
Station, as far to westward as Rock Creek — rendered
the streets wholly impassable.

Even those who now began to feel the heat and fear
the up-bursting smoke as it coiled from the basement
windows, as it writhed up between the sidewalk nag
gings and cracks in the asphalt pavement, burst up
volcano-like through coal-holes and drifted from the
very earth itself below their feet — even these, nearest
the scene of the gold integration, succeeded in fighting
their way back only by tremendous effort.

But there was no rioting. Such disturbance as oc
curred was merely the effort of the inner masses of
people to retreat before the growing cataclysm.

A strange, unnatural calm held them in thrall.

And, slowly yielding, the vast ring of watchers wid
ened as the heat and smoke grew more and more oppres
sive.

The first gush of molten gold, however, produced a
violent outcry, and some disorders in which a number
of spectators were injured.

At sight of that vivid, spurting, sparkling flow, a
long and quickly swelling thunder of massed voices rose ;
it spread and echoed like concentric waves on a vast
lake.

The whole city seemed to acclaim it with passionate
fervor.

The very spot where the metal first broke through,
just a little south of the southwest corner of the build
ing, is — as you know — to-day marked by that rugged,

342 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

symbolic "Liberation Monument," without a cut of
which no school history is nowadays complete.

The first jet was followed by many others, almost
simultaneously; and now the earth cracked and ripped
apart as fumes and metal alike began to fulminate.

All accounts — though differing somewhat in detail —
agree that the north wing was the first to fall. Faster,
thicker the smoke came now. Up-welling, the golden
flood bubbled and gushed from a thousand apertures;
it spread out, twisting, writhing in fantasies of voluted
golden lava-flows.

And as these hardened, fresh jets from still other
fumaroles gushed over them. The whole earth vi
brated, groaning with the intense travail of the vaults
beneath — the laboring strain of the expanding hoard
that, pent by steel and concrete and by towering walls,
fought to be free.

Thus Vulcan toils beneath Patmos; thus the Earth
Giants and the Midgard Serpent of the Eddas toil.

Now great splintering cracks ran, booming all
through the north wall of the building. They splayed
out like lightning chains.

And, suddenly, with a titanic heave and thrust, a
long section of the foundation lifted.

It dropped again, amid a rain of falling chimney-
stacks, cornices, shattered window-ledges and facing-
stones.

And as it sank, a stupendous dragon-burst of flame,
of smoke and spurting gold belched heavenward.

Then the whole north wing, crumpled like a card-
house struck by a cyclone, roared down to ruin.

Before the thunder of the shock and' of the million-

SUNSHINE UPON HEIGHTS 343

throated cry had died, the central fa9ade caved back
ward, crushing the undermined body of the structure.
Half a minute later the south wing, rent apart, swayed,
tottered and suddenly collapsed.

Where the Treasury had stood, a symbol of capital
ist might and hoarding power, now lay a tremendous,
roughly conical pile of steel and stone and gold.

High in air, a stupendous pillar of smoke and dust
shot up.

At the top it broadened, mushroomlike. Slowly this
huge, monstrous signal-column drifted away on the
southeast wind up the valley of the Potomac.

Swirling flames, vapors, leaping and roaring masses
of metal, stifled reports and booming verberations, with
everywhere the bright f.iid crawling founts of gold, gold,
gold — all made a pic' ure such as never yet was seen on
earth and never any more shall be.

In the smoke of that vast funeral pyre of the men of
gold, the capitalist system lifted from off the weary
shoulders of the world.

And like the wraith of a forgotten, evil dream — a
dream of horror, blood, lust, war — it drifted on, on,
away; it faded, vanished utterly upon the wings of the
pure, cold December wind.

For, though the actual gold remained, the world had
fundamentally altered, vitally transmuted during the
long stress and terror of the Blight. And that which
men had seemed to love, now they hated with a bitter
ness wherein fear played a vital part.

Such was the first step out into freedom, the first long
step toward reason and the dominance of pure intelli
gence.

344 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

When Storm had struck even his first blow, the world
had for many a long and toil-worn year been "ripe and
rotten-ripe for change."

Millions of men already had accepted, with the pas
sionate fervor of a new and vital faith, the knowledge
of social evolution ; millions were hoping, waiting, work
ing for the Great Change.

Storm's campaign had done more than temporarily
destroy gold. It had killed an idea, throttled a super
stition. It had forever shattered to the uttermost foun
dation mankind's submission to the idea that plutoc
racy — the gold power — possessed any right whatsoever
to rule and rack and ruin.

It had been the fecundating germ of an incalculable
mutation, the electric spark firing the train of univer
sal, resistless mass-revolt.

In the weeks of Storm's progressive victory over gold
(a concrete object lesson of the helplessness of matter,
the dominance of intellect), so much water had run
under the world's economic, social and political
bridges, that — now with the dominant masters seared
and sealed under tons of rigid gold — nothing could ever
any more bring the people's neck again sub jugum,
under the yoke.

King Gold was dead!

A rejoicing world, uprising millions upon uncounted
millions, acclaimed his death ; and, to the farthest isles,
kings, emperors, czars found their thrones a-crumble,
their crowns falling, their ermine transformed to the
sackcloth of fear and flight.

But the people, glad in triumph, knew the day of
longed-for freedom was at the dawn. Up fluttered the

SUNSHINE UPON HEIGHTS 345

crimson banners of fraternity; the "International,"
sung in all tongues, ushered the better day.

Hardly had the gold stiffened into its fantastic gro-
tesquerie, binding and gripping the ruins of the Treas
ury in a thousand weird embraces, when popular pres
sure on Congress caused to be drawn and enacted the
famous national monument bill, and called for an Inter
national Values Commission, to sit at Washington.

The bill provided, as you know, that the Treasury
ruins be appropriately fenced and surrounded by a
park, adjoining the Administration grounds and em
bracing the territory between H Street, Fourteenth and
Pennsylvania Avenues; and that the granite pile, gold
and all, should forever remain inviolate — softened only
by time and by the fingering tendrils of woodbine and
ivy — as a huge memorial of past human folly and of
the crimes of capital, in other days.

The values commission, representing every civilized
nation in the world, demonetized gold, after a two-days'
session.

Certain reactionaries proposed mining the gold from
the ruins, and trying to reestablish the System; but
their suggestion was not even made public. For in the
existing state of popular enthusiasm, grave conse
quences might have resulted.

Gold thus lost its fictitious, imaginary, dream-spun
value, and became simply an ordinary metal, like any
other. Save in the arts and sciences, it now possessed
no more importance than lead — even less, for many uses.

No longer an exchange medium, its power for ill van
ished forever.

346 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

The news flamed from a hundred thousand bulletin-
boards, to shouting, cheering millions; and the vast
series of fetes that resulted, could not find adequate de
scription in a library of quarto volumes.

Still further, the radical elements of society all the
world over, had in the weeks of stress so enormously
strengthened their power that now they at once began
demonetizing silver also and introducing a system of
labor-certificates, personal and non-transferable, as the
only legal tender.

With their rise to control, all exploitation, involun
tary poverty, war and the whole misbegotten brood of
capitalism, soon passed beyond the bounds of any pos
sible resuscitation.

Far more than this, the cooperative commonwealth,
whereof unnumbered sages and philosophers had
dreamed, for which uncounted multitudes had labored
and died, now shone — clearly at hand — upon the heights
ahead.

EPILOGUE

COMFORTABLY leaning back in his big chair at the
very window of the Planters' and Traders' Hotel, from
which he had watched the destruction of the Treasury,
John Storm drew for a moment at his cigar before con
cluding his long letter of refusal.

The sun-soaked radiance of that southern winter
morning beat warmly on the table before him. He pon
dered a moment with wrinkled brows, then shook his
fountain pen, and wrote these final paragraphs :

So then, in spite of what you kindly interpret as a strong
popular demand, I cannot accept My services could be of no
further advantage to the country. I am no statesman — only an
engineer. I gratefully appreciate the unwarranted honor done
me; but still I must refuse. With all the gratitude in the world,
I positively must state that I cannot now, nor can I at any
future time, even remotely consider accepting any public office
of whatsoever nature, kind, or character.

My work, so far as it concerns the people as a whole, as a
political unit, is done. The science which I serve shall always
be at their disposal; but I, personally, must remain a private
citizen, unrewarded save through the realization of my dreams.

This decision, then, is final. With the heartiest thanks, again,
and all regrets that I cannot see my way clear to the acceptance
of the signal honor offered me, I remain,

Faithfully yours,

STORM.

He reread the entire letter, sealed it and made it
ready for mailing.

347

348 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

"Thank Heaven that's done!" sighed he, much re
lieved. "What a dog's life a writer's must be !"

For a little while he smoked in silence.

"Dreams," said he to himself at length. "Yes, I,
too, have had my dreams, even I. And now they're j
coming true !

"Dreams of an infinitely better world than any man
kind has ever known — a world free from the oppressions
of kings, priests and capitalists, liberated from the
nightmare-rule of gold, forever done with slavery and
exploitation and the ghastly, blood-stained madness of
war.

"Dreams of a world of joy, peace, knowledge, in ,:
which mankind shall come into its rightful heritage and
own the earth as one great family, each giving accord
ing to his ability, each taking according to his need.
A world without bitterness and strife ; a world of aspira
tion and of love.

"Now, for the first time, ideals can come to full
fruition. The human race, its chains unbound, can
now for the first time live its visions, and prove the
innate nobility of the human soul. In place of misery,
poverty, anguish, woe and death, shall be light and
joy, knowledge, art, music, development, plenty, peace
and life !

"Life was meant to be free, joyous, self -expressive.
The few, with cynic power, have chained it in hard
bonds of woe and travail. But now, already 'the old
order changeth, giving place to new !' "

He got up, went over to the window and opened it,
then for a while leaned on his elbows, looking out.

A pearly haze obscured the horizon, that winter

EPILOGUE 349

morning. Away and away the Potomac stretched a
crinkled ribbon of blue watered silk. Over all, through
all, brooded quiet and calm and joy.

"H-m!" said he to himself at length, "before long I
shan't have to be putting up with pipes or ordinary
every-day cigars. Before long now, I'll be having
about all the Mindanaos I want — genuine Mindanaos,
from my own ground down there in Cuthbert, Georgia !

"Singular how I happened to discover that patch of
ground, eh? Nestled right into a cozy corner of old
Mother Nature's lap, with the south-wind blowing over
and the sun, mellow and clear on it — some soil, and
that's a fact.

"Same identical composition, too, as that of the
Vuelta Aba jo — only excepting just the touch that my
new atmospheric nitrogen process will give it. When
those plants reach me, and I get to work setting 'em
out — dressed in a pair of overalls and a corn-cob —
say!

"And yet they're trying to force that office on to
me!"

He broke into a deep chuckle of content.

The sunlight on his face showed it a trifle thinner, a
bit paler than before the Blight; but it was still the
same strong, half -humorous, half-stern face, kindly, de
termined and very human.

All at once, far off, a bell began to ring.

Another took up the chime ; a third, a fourth ; many
and many joined the chorus.

Storm leaned on crossed arms to listen.

Pipe gripped in teeth, he harkened the New Year's
peals.

350 THE GOLDEN BLIGHT

A sparrow, perched on a projecting cornice near at
hand, cocked a bright, curious eye at him.

Storm smiled again.

"You're living under a new dispensation this day,
know that?" he asked the sparrow. "I guess by the
look of things there'll be more crumbs for all of us,
from now on. Enough for everybody, eh? and not too
much for anybody — and no more quarreling !"

Away with a flick of brown wings the sparrow darted.

"Freedom!" mused Storm. "How good it is — how
good the world is now, and the people, and everything
— now that the chance exists!"

He paused and looked abroad.

Louder "the bells sounded now; louder, clearer, more
triumphant.

"Is it possible," wondered the man, awed by the tre
mendous thought, "that I, / have given this New Year's
gift to man? This gift of life, instead of war and
death; this gift of hope and joy and plenty?

"No, not I! Not I! Science has worked this mir
acle; and by her hand she shall yet bring mankind to
perfect knowledge, perfect light !"

He raised his head and listened, his heart athrill;
and to his soul the brazen bells cried, in a paean of wild
triumph :

Ring out old shapes of foul disease,
Ring out the narrowing lust of gold!
Ring out the thousand wars of old,
* Ring in the thousand years of peace!

THE END

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